Theories of Probability
by Dantegate
Summary: Curiosity had always been such a burden to bear. Who knew that finding a purple scarf would create such a fuss? Augusta Prince, searching for answers, finds only more questions after moving into 221B Baker Street. But she couldn't help it. Now her curiosity may very well get her killed.
1. Prologue

AN: Hello readers, Dante here with my very first Sherlock story. I have written many other stories but none like Sherlock. I love this series so much and I think Mr. Cumberbatch is brilliant as Sherlock Holmes! I also love Mr. Freeman as John Watson. I just plain love this show to be honest. I have a theory of how Sherlock faked his death but I wont divulge that until later. This is just the prologue and sadly Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson won't be making an appearence yet, but none the less please read and enjoy the prologue. Since this is written out of pure enjoyment, I would appreciate all your comments and thoughts (even conspiracy theories) that you have. Enjoy!

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Theories of Probability

An Augusta Prince Story

Prologue

Little Augusta Prince stirred from under the soft duvet as the sound of her mother's voice brushed her small ear. A giggle answered Sarah Prince's tickling whispers in her daughter's ear as the four year old twisted in the large bed belonging to her parents. Augusta threw the duvet off, revealing a small girl with long honey brown curls and large, inquisitive blue eyes. A smile etched on her face as she was greeted by her mother who kissed her nose, "Time to wake up sweetheart, Daddy is waiting for you downstairs."

Augusta wrapped her small arms around her mother's neck, kissing her cheek sloppily before being assisted down from the large bed. She ran in her nightie down the hair and walked step by step down the stairs, her mother walking behind her. Augusta lived with her mother and father in the countryside of Dover, England, among the white cliffs. The view of the glittering strait greeted Augusta as she reached the bottom of the stairs from the open windows.

As Augusta grew closer to the kitchen she could smell her mother's pancakes. She ran into the kitchen where her father was sitting at the table, his ever-present newspaper open in his hands, "Daddy!"

Charles Prince peered over his newspaper, revealing matching blue eyes and a nearly invisible smile, "Good morning little rabbit."

Augusta raised her arms expectedly, causing her father to chuckle as he laid his paper on the table. He picked her up with ease and placed her on his lap, "Now, tell me little rabbit, why did you crawl into Mummy and Daddy's bed last night? Hmm? Come now, tell Daddy what happened."

Augusta played with the buttons on her father's vest, her head down, "I don't know."

Sarah entered the kitchen and smiled knowingly at her husband, leaning against the doorway as she watched her daughter try and ignore her father's question. Charles winked at his wife, causing her to roll her eyes and return to the stove where she had left the sausages.

Charles made a "hmmm" sound as he tilted his head, "Was there a monster under the bed?"

Augusta shook her head sharply, causing her curls to bounce, "No Daddy."

He looked down at his daughter and smiled, "Was Lucy barking too loud?"

Augusta looked down at the bloodhound at her father's feet, who was snoring lightly in her sleep, "No Daddy."

Charles tapped his chin with his finger in thought, "Well, darling, why don't you tell me what scared you so?"

Augusta crossed her arms defensively, "I wasn't scared!"

"Oh-ho, really now! Then why did you run in, Augusta?" Charles asked, tapping his daughter's dainty nose.

Augusta shrugged, "I heard a funny noise. I thought Mommy was hurt 'cause she was making noises."

From the stove, Sarah dropped the skillet with a thud. Augusta and her father looked over and saw that she had grown red in the cheeks and was hiding her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as the sound of a muffled laugh came from behind them.

Charles cleared his throat and looked back at his daughter, "Oh, that. Well you see Augusta, Mummy was just, well me and Mummy were doing grown up things, you see."

"Oh Charlie, stop it." Sarah said as she laid a plate in front of him and Augusta.

Sarah patted Augusta's head, "Mommy had a bad dream sweetheart, that's all."

"Oh, " Augusta said as she took a pancake from her father's plate.

Her daddy was strange, Augusta thought, because he only had pancakes after dinner and never at breakfast. Augusta only had pancakes at breakfast because her mommy did. Her mother told her that it was because her daddy was English and English people had pancakes for dessert instead of for breakfast like Americans. That was what her mommy was, she talked differently from everyone else in Dover. Augusta liked how her mother talked.

As Augusta munched on the warm sweet cake her father picked up his newspaper and began their morning ritual, "Let's see what we have today, shall we?"

Across the table, Sarah shook her head, "Charlie, do you really have to do that every morning? Can't we just talk about something else, like Augusta's birthday coming up!"

Augusta's face lit up, "presents!"

Charles merely sighed, "Sarah, dear, we mustn't neglect Augusta's intelligence. Besides, she's the only one in all of England who can keep up with me."

Sarah rolled her eyes, "Charlie, give it a rest."

Charles ignores his wife as he flipped the newspaper to the obituary section, "Alright little rabbit, tell me how do you think Mr. Trevor Adkins died?"

"Charlie, you promised! She's four years old!" Sarah said harshly.

Charles looked over at his wife and stared for a brief moment before looking down at Augusta, who looked between her parents with curiosity, "Why can't I guess, mommy?"

Sarah set down her cup of tea (cold, with two spoons of sugar) and rested her hands on the table, her voice soft and calm, "Sweetheart, you're too young to be thinking about things like that."

Augusta's eyebrows furrowed together and her nose curled up in confusion, "But daddy does it all the time."

Sarah nodded, "Yes, I know Augusta, but daddy is a grown up and grown ups are allowed to think about things like murder."

Augusta crossed her arms in annoyance, "But why!"

Sarah picked up her cup of tea and said with a smile, "Because it's the rules."

Charles couldn't help but chuckle as his daughter fell back against his chest, arms still crossed and the look of annoyance remained, "The rules are stupid."

"Right you are, darling," Charles said as he brushed a curl away from the four year olds eyes.

Sarah gave her husband her own look of annoyance, "She's four Charles, end of discussion."

"Five in December," Augusta mumbled as she looked at her mother with sad eyes, trying to sway her decision with little luck.

Charles sighed and flipped the newspaper once again, this time to the classifieds, "Alright then, if we can't do that then it's back to the help wanted. Ah, here's one! Listen carefully Augusta, Mrs. Mallory's prized cat has disappeared, it's been two days, last seen in Mrs. Mallory's home. What do you think Augusta?"

Sarah ate her breakfast, looking at her husband and daughter across the table. Charles was looking down at their daughter, who tilted her head and stared at the paper, "Susan Toffel took Mrs. Mallory's kitty, daddy."

Charles arched an eyebrow, "Oh, how's that?"

Augusta kicked her legs back and forth as she explained to her father, calmly, "Yesterday at school, I saw Susan, she was wearing a black skirt and it had lots and lots of white fur on it. She had a cut on her hand too, she said her new kitty did it."

Charles "hmmed" and appeared to be thinking over Augusta's guess, "I think you're close but not quite."

Augusta pouted and made an "ahhhh!" sound in her throat, causing her parents to laugh, "Then who did it daddy?"

Charles looked down at Augusta, "Mrs. Mallory's cat simply ran away. I always walk by Mrs. Mallory's house on the way to the library and she always leaves her front window open in the afternoons. Her cat simply jumped out the window and little Susan Toffel found the cat but has neglected in returning it to Mrs. Mallory."

Augusta lowered her head, "Oh."

Sarah rose from the table and held out her arms to her daughter, "Alright, enough of that. Come on sweetie, time to get ready for school."

Augusta groaned, "But I don't want to go to school, it's boring!"

Charles smiled as his wife and daughter disappeared down the hall, returning to the newspaper, flipping back to the obituary section.

Upstairs, Augusta skipped into her bedroom to gather her school things. She went to a private primary school but she thought it was boring. They didn't teach anything interesting there, at least to her.

As she opened her dresser to pull out a pair of clean white tights she dreaded wearing, she heard the phone ring. She ignored it until it continued to ring twice more, "Mommy! The phone!"

Her mother didn't answer. "Daddy!"

Still, no answer.

Finally, huffing, Augusta ran into the hall and picked up the phone that rested on a small table housing a vase of flowers. She took a deep breath and prepared to answer when she heard a loud scream on the other end. It was a man.

_"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN, ELIZABETH!"_

Startled, Augusta was struck into silence, unable to release the phone from her ear, "_You belong to me, not him. .Mine...and I will destroy anything that stops me from having you. Do you understand?"_

The line was silent for a moment that seemed to go on forever for Augusta, _"I SAID, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"_

Augusta jumped, covering her mouth to hold in the cry of fear. There was no answer to the man's screaming. As silence filled the line again, the man laughed, "_Are you sure you want to play this game? Don't say I didn't warn you darling."_

The line went dead.

Augusta hung the phone up and at the sound of her father sliding his chair back against the kitchen floor, she jumped and ran back to her room, wanting nothing more than to forget the voice that was screaming.

"Augusta, ready to go?"

The four, almost five, year old looked up to see her mother's smiling face as she stood in the doorway of her room, "Almost Mommy."

Sarah tusked and entered Augusta's bedroom to help her daughter get ready for school.

"Really Gusta, why do you always daydream when you know you have to do something?" Sarah asked her daughter as she sat her daughter on her bed and helped her dress.

"I can dress myself, Mommy." Augusta said defensively, causing her mother to laugh, "Then why haven't you?"

Augusta "humphed" and pulled her plaid skirt from her mother's hand, stomping her way into the bathroom next to her bedroom.

After she dressed, Augusta returned downstairs to see her parents sitting at the table together. Her father held her mother's hands in his, looking at her with concern as she laid her head against his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Augusta asked, surprising her parents.

Sarah rose to her feet, clearing her throat, "Nothing Augusta, let's get you to school."

She took her mother's hand and as they walked out the door, Augusta looked back to see her father reaching for the phone, "Yes, Gregory, hello. I need a favor."

Three weeks later...

Augusta and her parents stood in front of their home, waiting for a friend of her father's. Augusta looked down at her feet, holding her mother and father's hands. Beside them sat a suitcase and a backpack.

Charles crouched down and lifted Augusta's chin gently, "Augusta, don't be sad."

She blinked her eyes rapidly before leaning forward and burying her face in her father's chest, "I don't want to go!"

Sarah turned away and wiped her face before turning back, running her fingers through Augusta's curls, "We don't want you to either, sweetheart."

Lifting her face back up, she looked at her mother, "Then don't make me go, Mommy! I'll be good, I promise! I won't mess with Daddy's stuff anymore!"

Charles shook his head, "We're not sending you away because you've been bad, we're sending you to Auntie Theresa just for a little while until Daddy's done with his work, that's all. Think of it like a trip."

Augusta shook her head, "Why do I have to go away? I don't want to go!"

A car came into view and Charles stood to his feet, "I know rabbit, I know. But you have to trust Mommy and Daddy now, alright?"

Augusta sniffled but nodded her head.

The car came to a stop and a man got out. He had short, neatly cropped black hair and wore a suit. "Charles, wish I could say it was good to see you."

Charles sighed, "As do I Gregory, but thank you none the less. I'm trusting you with my daughter, do not make me regret this."

The man, Gregory, looked down at Augusta, who now was clinging to her mother, sniffling as her watery eyes looked at him, "Hello Augusta, my name's Greg, I'm a friend of your dad."

Augusta nodded, "Daddy talked to you on the phone, you owe him a favor."

Gregory raised an eyebrow and looked at Charles, "That's right. I'm taking you to see your aunt."

"At 134 Westbrook in Rochester, New York," she said, releasing her hold on her mother.

Gregory nodded, "That's right, My you are smart, aren't you? Just like your dad."

Sarah chuckled softly, "Probably only going to get smarter."

Charles patted Augusta's head, "Please Gregory, keep your promise."

Gregory nodded and picked up the suitcase and backpack, "I will Charles, I'll ah, just let you say goodbye then."

Sarah pulled Augusta against her, lifting her up into her arms, rocking lightly side to side, "Say hello to your aunt for me, Gusta. I love you."

"I love yo too, mommy," Augusta said before kissing her mother's cheek.

Augusta found herself in her father's arms next, being carried towards the car where Gregory sat in the driver's seat, ready to leave. Charles sat her inside, buckling the seatbelt across her chest. Kneeling next to her, he gave her a rare smile and rubbed her cheek with his thump, "Remember that we love you darling, we always will. Be good for Aunt Theresa. Be safe."

He laid a kiss on her forehead, remaining there for a long moment, holding her tight before finally letting go. He rose to his feet and shut the door, wiggling his fingers at Augusta through the window, who returned it half-heartedly, "Bye Daddy."

As they drove away, Augusta couldn't help but unbuckle herself and push herself to her knees to look back through the rear window. She stayed there, looking out until she could no longer see the figures of her parents.

Gregory looked in the rear-view mirror and watched her as she stared after her parents, "Don't worry, everything will be alright. I'm sure you'll have fun on your visit."

Augusta finally turned around and slid down the seat, re-buckling herself in silence.

Four months later...

Augusta sat under the leafless maple tree in her jacket as she kicked the January snow with her booted feet. She missed her parents. Her birthday had been a month ago and she had received a letter with presents; one was a framed picture of her mother and father standing together with smiles as they held one another. She hadn't heard from them since.

To Augusta's surprise, Gregory, her father's friend had called several times to talk to her. The five year old found that she liked Gregory even if he was a bit silly.

"Augusta!"

Looking up, she saw her aunt standing at the back door, a look of distraught on her face. Behind her, was a familiar face.

Augusta jumped to her feet and ran through the snow, "Daddy!"

The cold air burned her lungs as she ran but she didn't care. She reached her father and was lifted into his arms, "I got you, I got you darling."

Augusta cried into his neck but was forced away and placed back to the ground, her father kneeling down on his knees in front of her. Augusta looked at him in confusion and then to her aunt, who was crying in the corner of the room, hiding her face behind her hand, "I thought I had to stay till summer, Daddy."

"I know Augusta but things have changed," her father said, his voice hoarse.

Augusta looked around for her mother but couldn't see her. Maybe she was outside in the car, "Where's Mommy?"

Her aunt let out a wail and ran from the room, the sound of a door slamming echoed through the house.

"Daddy?" Augusta asked, not entirely sure what was wrong.

Charles pulled his daughter close and took hold of her face between his hands, "Augusta, darling, Mummy's gone. She's gone somewhere far away."

Blinking, Augusta asked, "When is she coming back?"

Charles swallowed, his eyes growing glassy with water before breathing shakily, "She's not Augusta. Mommy can't come back from where she's gone."

Augusta was silent.

Charles forced his daughter to look at him as she stared into space, "Augusta, I have to go away for a while, longer than I said."

This broke Augusta out of her silence, "No! You promised only till summer, you promised!"

Charles shook his head, "I'm sorry rabbit. I love you."

Augusta wretched herself out from her father's arms, "No you don't!"

She ran back to her tree, not caring that the cold snow burned against her skin as she fell down. She curled up her legs and hid her face between them, crying.

Charles watched as his daughter fled from him, a pain in his chest as he rose to his feet. "Theresa,"

Footsteps came first before Theresa re-entered the room. Theresa resembled Sarah greatly. They shared the same brown hair, which passed on to Augusta. But instead of their strait locks, she had inherited curls and blue eyes instead of brown, "I am sorry Theresa."

Theresa crossed her arms, "Just keep your part of the bargain Charles, please."

Charles nodded and turned to leave but not before pulling out an envelope and leaving it on the table, "Give this to Augusta."

Without another word, Charles walked out the door towards the taxi that was waiting for him. He opened the door but looked back towards his daughter, who sat huddled under the lifeless tree.

As if feeling his gaze, Augusta looked up to see her father standing next to the taxi. She stared at him, watching as he got into the taxi. Panic hit her as the yellow car began driving away. He was really leaving her here.

"Daddy."

Jumping to her feet, Augusta began running towards the driveway where the car backed out, "Daddy, don't leave me!"

She tumbled over her feet, falling face first into the snow. Scrambling back up, she continued running. She reached the drive and the only thing that prevented her from chasing after the car was her aunt who ran after her, picking her up around her waist. Augusta kicked and screamed to be let go. She was powerless as she watched her father disappear in the distance.

"Daddy!"

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Until next time, leave a review!

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	2. Chapter One

A/N: Dante here again. I want to thank those of you who have put Theories of Probability on your alerts and favorites. Thanks to those who have reviewed, I really appreciate it! I know you may be wondering a few things but this is a mystery after all, just stick with it and everything will be brought to light. Good news though, John's here! Please remember to review and ask any questions you have. Enjoy!

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Chapter One

It had been five months since the death of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson still could not set foot inside the flat they once shared. He found himself back at the hostel where he had stayed after returning from Afghanistan. Ironic really. It was like he had dreamt up the consulting detective. Nightmares returned as if they never left. He saw his therapist twice a week, whom he was on his way to see. The only thing that seemed to be different about his life before Sherlock Holmes was the lack of his limp and cane.

Mrs. Hudson had attempted to get him to return to the flat several times over the months, but John just couldn't. Mrs. Hudson had little choice but to put it up for rent, though no one had yet to accept Mrs. Hudson's condition of leaving Sherlock's things in the spare bedroom upstairs.

Reaching his therapist's office, John entered the building and approached the receptionist, hands in his jacket, "John Watson, I've got an appointment at two."

The receptionist smiled as she picked up the phone, motioning him to enter the door leading to his therapist, "She's ready for you, Dr. Watson."

He nodded in thanks and entered, shutting the door behind him.

"John,"

His therapist was a tall, dark skinned woman who dressed in a professional black skirt and a white blouse under a light blue blazer. She rose from her desk and walked towards him, hand outstretched. He shook it before making his way to his usual seat next to the window. Dr. Ella Thompson joined him by the window, sitting across from him, crossing her legs.

They sat in silence, the only sound coming from the open window; a bird chirping.

"John, how are you?" she asked politely.

He cleared his throat, looking away from the window he had been looking out at, "Fine, *ehm* fine."

Dr. Thompson shifted in her seat, "Have you?"

John tapped his finger against the arm of the chair, "Well, yeah. Not great but...fine."

Nodding, Dr. Thompson flipped through her notes, "Have you written on your blog at all?"

John chuckled dryly, "No, no I haven't. Nothing worth writing about, I suppose."

"Any dating?" she asked suddenly.

"Um, no, not really."

"I see." She said as she jotted down in her notes.

John couldn't help but lean forward and see what she was writing, "Still lacks social interactions?"

"Still reading my notes upside down," she shot back with a grin.

John sighed and looked away from Dr. Thompson, back outside. Dr. Thompson tilted her head in thought before leaning forward, "John, you have to move on. It's been five months now since Sherlock's death."

John looked back at her sharply, "What are you talking about?"

Dr. Thompson sighed, "John, I see you twice a week and every time I ask you if you have met anyone; friends, girlfriends," she cleared her throat before adding, "boyfriends..."

John rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath before speaking up, "It's not like I don't date, just no one interesting."

Dr. Thompson sat back in her chair, folding her hands, "John, you refuse to move back into your flat. You're refusing to accept his death."

"No," John shook his head, pointing at his therapist, "that's not true. I know he's-"

He stopped and swallowed, "I know he's gone. The flat reminds me of him too much. I can't stay there, it's just...too much," he gave a tight smile.

Dr. Thompson looked at him with almost pitying eyes before closing her notes, "Alright John, but do one thing for me, alright?"

"Um, alright," he said, waiting for her to speak.

"I want you to go out," she said, standing.

He stood as well, confusion on his face, "Go out, for what?"

She shrugged, "Just to go out. Go to a pub. Go to the park. Do something relaxing. Fun."

John left Dr. Thompson's office, unsure if he should do as she asked. He hadn't felt like doing much. It was true that he hadn't been dating and the only person he really talked to was Mrs. Hudson and occasionally Molly from Bart's. Perhaps a nice walk in the park would do him some good.

It was a nice day out after all and there was a park not too far from where he was. Walking down the street, John soon came to a small park. It was summer now so the trees were all green and had plenty of shade. There were a few kids running around, their mother's talking to one another on benches as they played.

John found a quiet area near a pond and took residence on the wooden bench, sighing as he sat down, rubbing his eyes with his hands. He soon found himself somewhat relaxed as he listened to the muffled laughter coming from the kids nearby and the soft wind against his skin.

"John?" a soft voice asked.

Turning, John raised his brow. "Mary?"

He couldn't believe it. Mary, his Mary from Uni was standing right in front of him. He rose quickly, a smile suddenly sprouting on his face, "Oh my god."

She laughed softly and took a timid step towards him, "I thought that was you; you still have that haircut."

They stood there, awkwardly for a moment before Mary rolled her eyes and gave him a hug, "It's good to see you John. How've you been?"

John, surprised by the hug, stuttered a bit, "I-I've been, f-fine. I've been fine. And you?"

She gave him that small grin she always gave him and shrugged, "Alright."

She shifted her weight, a look of worry on her face, "Dad told me what happened. You were shot."

He cleared his throat, "Yeah, but I'm fine. No worries," he gave a reassuring smile at the sight of her worried face.

That worry soon shifted and John found himself stumbling back. She had pushed him.

"What was that?" he asked, surprised.

Mary crossed her arms, a look of anger on her face, "Shot! I told you not to go but you did anyway, and look what happens! You get bloody shot!"

In shock, John's eyes darted back and forth before asking, "I'm sorry?"

Mary shook her head, "You've always been so stubborn, John Watson. Why couldn't you listen to me? I told you you could get hurt and you did."

John realized she was talking about the fight they had had before he joined the military. He couldn't help the laugh that flew from his mouth. He shook his head and held up his hand as an apology as he continued to laugh, "Sorry!"

Mary's scowl soon vanished and she found herself laughing along with him, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

John shook his head, "No, don't apologize. It's wonderful to see you again Mary."

Mary flashed a pearly smile when suddenly a small boy ran towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist, "Miss Mary!"

John watched as Mary hugged the boy in return, laughing, "Michael Forrester, what are you doing here?"

The boy, no older than six or seven years old looked up at her with a smile. He brushed his shaggy blond hair out of his eye, "I'm playing with Davie. Mum's over there,"

He pointed towards the playground John had walked past earlier where a woman resembling the boy sat with a younger boy in her lap. The woman noticed them and waved at Mary, who returned it before looking down at Michael, "It was good to see you Michael; I'll see you when school starts again, alright?"

The boy nodded, gave Mary one last hug and ran back towards his mother, leaving John alone with Mary again, "So, you became a teacher after all."

Mary raised a brow, "Yes, I said I was didn't I?"

John merely sighed and nodded, "Yeah, you did."

He was surprised when Mary grabbed his hand and pulled out a pen. She leaned over his hand and began scribbling on his skin, "I can't believe I'm doing this but,"

When she was done, John looked down at his hand and found a phone number etched on his palm. Looking up quickly, he nervously scratched the back of his neck, "I, um, I'll give you a call then, shall I?"

She laughed at his nervousness, "That's why I gave you my number."

Turning away, she began walking away but turned back suddenly and gave a sheepish look, "I really am sorry about you getting shot and all."

John watched as she exited the part and began walking down the street, her red hair flying behind her as a strong wind blew by.

He couldn't help but think.

She was still the same stubborn yet utterly sweet woman he had fallen in love with at university.

TOP

Augusta Prince stood in front of the building with some reservation. She looked down at her side and stared at the single suitcase she had brought with her. She had spoken to the landlady, a Mrs. Hudson, on the phone a week ago about an available flat. The woman sounded sweet on the phone, almost ecstatic when she informed Augusta that she did in fact have a flat available.

Picking up her suitcase, Augusta approached the door of 221B Baker Street and rang the doorbell. She turned her head and looked to the right to look into the small cafe that stood next door to the flat, _Speedy's Sandwich Bar and Cafe: Breakfast, Lunch, Pasta_

"Hello dear,"

Turning forward, Augusta saw an older woman smiling at her. She wore a long-sleeved purple dress with black pantyhose and brown shoes. Her hair was cut short, blond with some gray. A scar over her left eye caught Augusta's attention, along with a slight one on her left hand. Augusta returned the woman's smile, "Yes, hello. I'm Augusta Prince, is Mrs. Hudson in?"

The woman nodded, her smile growing, "Oh yes, the American! You wanted to look at the flat upstairs. Would you like to take a look?"

Augusta nodded, "Oh, yes! I'd love that, thank you."

The woman, Mrs. Hudson stood to the side and let Augusta inside, shutting the door behind her. Augusta looked around the small area. The walls were painted a light blue, a hall to the left and a staircase in need of a repaint straight ahead. There was another doorway next to the stairs. Mrs. Hudson looked down at the suitcase in the young woman's hand, "Is that all you have, dear?"

"Well I'm only staying a few days. I'm visiting an old friend but if everything goes well, I'll be needing a place to stay, so here I am," Augusta said as she followed Mrs. Hudson upstairs.

As they reached the top of the first floor, Augusta noticed the rather ugly wallpaper. It was white with green plants on it. She had to stop herself from curling up her lip in distaste. She had a bad habit of expressing herself openly.

Mrs. Hudson pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the brown door at the top of the stairs, ushering Augusta in happily, "Well, this is it."

Augusta set her suitcase down and stepped further into the flat.

The first thing she noticed was the two large windows, giving a view of the building across the street. Not a lovely view but it gave wonderful light into the room. The second thing she noticed was the bull skull hanging between the windows, a pair of large headphones perched on its head. Augusta couldn't help but internally laugh at the irony. Looking to her right she saw a large yellow smiley face on the black and white wall. Were those bullet holes?

She walked to the left, taking in the two bookcases on either side of a fireplace, and saw the kitchen. It was bigger than she expected but she liked it. A simple wooden table sat in the middle of it.

There was a hallway on the other side of the kitchen. She walked across the kitchen and into the hall, where two doors lied. One on the left and one to the right. She opened the one to the right and saw the bathroom; nothing special. Walking through the door on the left, Augusta stopped at the sight of the bedroom, filled with boxes.

Mrs. Hudson walked up behind her and sighed. Augusta noticed the tone. She was sad. "What' wrong, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh, nothing dear. It's just the tenant before, he was very special you see," she said as she entered the bedroom, crossing her arms and shaking her head, "but he passed away."

Augusta ran her hand over one of the boxes, labeled_, S.H. clothes_

"Nearly two years and I can't make myself get rid of his bloody things," Mrs. Hudson said sharply.

Augusta gave her a look, noticing how she was blinking rapidly. She had been close then, to whoever S.H. was. She was trying not to cry in front of Augusta. Turning away from the boxes, Augusta asked, "If I were to take the flat, would the boxes be removed then?"

Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat, fiddling with her earring, "That was the exception dear. You see, I just can't bring myself to get rid of these things so if you want the flat, then you'll have to take care of it yourself."

"Is that why you haven't been able to rent it out?" Augusta asked curiously, looking at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall near the small window. She took in her appearance; long curly brown hair, large blue yet tired eyes and pouty petal pink lips.

She looked over at Mrs. Hudson, who nodded, "Yes, no one's wanted to go through the trouble."

Augusta sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair, thinking.

Mrs. Hudson studying the young woman. She was only slightly taller than herself and wore a light summer dress with a short-sleeved, nearly see-through cardigan. She could make out a tattoo on her shoulder, peeking out underneath her hair that covered it partially. She couldn't tell exactly what it was. She had pierced ears, two on either lobe and a small diamond stud on her upper right ear.

"Well dear, what do you think?" Mrs. Hudson finally asked.

Augusta turned to her, "I like it."

Mrs. Hudson perked up, surprised, "Really!"

Augusta held up her hands quickly, "But that's only if I decide to stay in London. I'll know by tonight. Can I get back to you on it?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded, afraid that if she didn't agree, the young woman would change her mind and she would be stuck with a box filled flat with no renter, "Of course, of course. Take all the time you need dear. Would you like a cuppa?"

Augusta cocked her head, chuckling slightly, "I'm sorry?"

Mrs. Hudson realized that she was probably didn't understand what a cuppa exactly was, "Oh, sorry dear. A cup of tea."

"Oh, that would be nice, thank you. I forgot what a cuppa was, it's been so long since I've been in England," Augusta said as she picked up her suitcase and followed Mrs. Hudson out of the flat.

Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson led Augusta into her own flat and laid out a tray of tea, "Do you take anything with your tea, Ms. Prince?"

Augusta smiled as she sat down, "Augusta please, Mrs. Hudson, and yes, two spoons of sugar would be fine."

Mrs. Hudson handed her a cup of hot tea, which Augusta nearly spit out when she felt the warmth of the liquid, "Oh, I haven't had hot tea in so long! I'm so used to cold tea."

The landlady chuckled as she watched the young woman blow across the top of her cup, "So you've been to England before then, dear? What brings you back?"

Augusta swallowed the tea and placed her cup in the small saucer resting on her knee, "Just visiting an old friend, I guess you could say. I haven't seen him in years. I was hoping he could help me with something."

"Help with what dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked, picking up her own cup of tea.

Augusta looked down at the small strands of steam rising from her cup, "Oh, just some things I need to understand. Really nothing worth talking about."

The mild silence of the conversation that came was interrupted by the sound of a ringtone. Augusta jumped slightly, feeling the vibration coming from her satchel. She pulled her phone from her bag and rolled her eyes at the name that flashed across the small screen, _Q.B._

"Aren't you going to get that, Augusta?" Mrs. Hudson asked as Augusta dropped her still ringing phone into her bag.

Augusta ignored the phone and turned back to Mrs. Hudson, "No one important. So, tell me Mrs. Hudson, how long have you lived here?"

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Thanks for reading, until next time.

REMEMBER TO REVIEW!

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	3. Chapter Two

A/N: Hi readers! Thanks to those who have left me reviews so far, I love them! But please, keep them coming, they keep my muse-juice flowing! Remember if you have any questions to ask. Enjoy!

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Chapter Two

Augusta left Mrs. Hudson's after a long conversation and two cups of tea. She liked the woman. She was a bit quirky but Augusta was a bit off herself. Making her way down the street, Augusta was relieved that she didn't have to lug her suitcase around London with her. Mrs. Hudson had insisted that even if she wasn't taking the flat, that she could stay for a small charge.

As she turned the corner she nearly tumbled over as she tried to avoid barreling into a man who came around the same corner, "Oh sorry!"

The man reached out and steaded her. He was a bit taller than her but not by much, with short blond hair with flecks of gray beginning to show. He gave an airy chuckle though Augusta could tell it was a bit forced, "That's alright."

She walked around him and around the corner he appeared from, but noticed that he approached Mrs. Hudson's door; perhaps he was a tenant in the basement flat. Augusta waved her hand in the air as a taxi appeared, "Taxi!"

TOP

John knocked on the door and waited for Mrs. Hudson. He didn't have his key since he wasn't living there anymore. The door opened and Mrs. Hudson's face broke into a wide smile, "John!"

Mrs. Hudson reached out and hugged him, patting his back, "It's so good to see you dear!"

She ushered him in excitedly and John found himself sitting in Mrs. Hudson's flat. He noticed the tray with tea cups and a kettle. Instead of one cup, there were two, already drunk from. John chuckled, Sherlock was rubbing off on him.

He sat down, "Have company, Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson picked up the tray and disappeared into her kitchen, "Oh yes! I think I might actually have a prospect for the flat upstairs."

She reappeared, brushing her fingers down her dress, she sat down across from John, "She's a lovely young thing, quite pretty though a bit odd."

John tilted his head, "Really, you found a new tenant. That's...wonderful."

Noticing the look in his face, Mrs. Hudson leaned forward and patted his hand, "Of course dear, if you want to come back I could always tell her no."

He shook his head, "No, that's fine. What about his things then?"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head and sighed, "She didn't say anything about it. I assume she'll be getting rid of his things. She's staying here a few nights upstairs but I'm sure that she won't mind if you go through the boxes...if you want to take anything."

John fell back against the chair, "I don't know Mrs. Hudson."

They fell into their regular conversation that they had whenever John visited. How were things, were they seeing anyone, and of course gossiping over trash tele. John didn't bring up Mary; he didn't want to give his hopes up. After all, they hadn't seen each other in years, but she did give her number willingly.

"Well, best be off," John said as he rose from the chair. They had been talking for a good hour when John realized the time.

Mrs. Hudson walked him to the door, "I really wish you would come back, dear. It's not the same without you boys."

John sighed, "You know I can't."

She nodded, "I know."

TOP

Augusta stepped into New Scotland Yard, the gray scale of the place annoying her already. Why was it that everywhere she went there was an absence of color? She stepped into the elevator and took a shaky breath. This was it. She had been waiting for years to find the truth and now she was finally going to get it.

When the doors reopened, Augusta was met with the sound of ringing phones and mumbling around the floor. There were cubicles everywhere, the walls lined with a number of glass-encased offices. She looked around, unsure of where she would find him. She knew he was in homicide and was a detective inspector.

"Can I help you?"

A dark-skinned, curly-haired woman approached Augusta, crossing her arms as she stood in front of Augusta, who had an instant dislike for her, "I'm looking for Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, snidely.

Augusta raised a brow, "Um, no but if you'll just point me in the right direction, you can go on your way."

The woman pointed to an office at the back corner of the large room, "Over there."

"Thank you," Augusta said, a bit of sarcasm laced in her voice as she walked past the woman towards the corner office.

She stopped outside the window and saw a man sitting inside, on the phone. He was definitely Gregory Lestrade though older. His black hair had become dusted with gray and his face looked more worn, weary almost. He looked tired by the bags under his eyes. He wore a suit, like the one he wore when they first met when she was five years old.

She wondered if he would recognize her. It had been years since he last saw her; she had been sixteen then after all. He didn't even know she was coming so she lucked out on him being in the office instead of being out on a case.

Almost timidly, she knocked on his door.

"Yeah, come in!" he called from the other side.

Walking in, she stood in the doorway, fiddling with her fingers, "Hi Greg."

TOP

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade looked up from his desk at the sound of a soft, female voice. A young woman stood in his office doorway, looking nervous. She stepped in and closed the door behind her, "Can I help you?"

She crossed her arms and gave him a curious look, "You don't recognize me after all this time, Greg? I'm hurt."

He shook his head, "I'm sorry, have we met?"

She leaned forward and placed her hands on his desk, "The last time you saw me I had blue hair, a pierced nose and a lip ring."

Augusta could see the gears turning on his face when suddenly he jumped from his chair and came around the desk, engulfing her in a bear hug, "Gusta!"

Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his hug. When he let her go he looked her over, "What happened to the scrawny teenager I left across the pond?"

She shrugged, "Grew up."

He tugged at her hair, "And I see you've gotten past your rebellious phase. You look lovely."

She pushed his hand away, "Yeah, as soon as I was back Auntie sent me off to boarding school."

He cringed and motioned for her to sit down across from him as he walked around his desk, "How'd that work out?"

She chuckled, "Expelled after two weeks."

Lestrade shook his head, "Dear lord Augusta."

She shrugged, sitting back in her seat, "It didn't go over well with Auntie but we got over it."

Lestrade chuckled, "I'm sure."

He stared at the young woman sitting across him. She had changed since he last saw her. Not only was she older, but she was no longer wearing strange clothes and her hair was a normal color for once. The piercings in her nose and lip were no longer there, which made him extremely happy.

"Not that I'm not glad to see you, Augusta, but what are you doing in London? I thought you were living in New York, working for some uppity magazine as a photographer."

Augusta looked around Lestrade's office, noticing the picture of his wife was missing, along with his wedding band, "It got boring."

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "God, is that your favorite word; boring? You seriously quit a job that was paying you over four figures a shoot because you got bored?"

Augusta made a "hmmm" sound in her throat as she turned from his window and back at him, "You know my attention span only lasts so long, Greg. Does it really surprise you?"

He sighed, "No, not really. So, what brings you to London?"

She gave a mock look of shock, "I can't just pop in to visit you, Greg?"

"We both know why you're here and like I told you nine years ago, I can't help you, "Lestrade said as he fell back against his office chair, giving her a look of sympathy.

She leaned forward against the desk, pointing her finger at him, "You know that's not true! You were there Greg! What did my dad tell you that day on the phone?"

Lestrade rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Like I told you before, he called in a panic. Said he needed me to get you out of England and to the States to your aunt. That's it. I'm sorry Gusta. I wish I knew what happened. But you have to face the fact that your parents are dead."

"Parent, not parent**s**. Mom's dead but there isn't any proof that Dad's gone too," Augusta said defensively, "Until I see a body, he's not dead."

She rose to her feet, "I did come here to ask for your help, Greg, but if you're not, then I would like my mother's case file."

Lestrade's eyebrows shot up, "Excuse me?"

"I didn't stutter," she said as she looked down at Lestrade, "well?"

He waved his hands in front of him, "No, absolutely not, Augusta."

"Why the hell not? She's my mother for god's sake!" Augusta said, beginning to pace the small floor space.

Lestrade rose and stopped Augusta from burning a hole in his floor by taking hold of her shoulders, "Augusta, you're a civilian for one. Two, you're related to the victim! I just can't give you the case files, not to mention the evidence! You don't need to see it."

"Yes, I do."

Her eyes watered as she looked up at him, pleadingly, "It's my mom, Greg. You knew her; help me please."

Lestrade sighed after a moment of simply looking at Augusta, "I'll see what I can do, alright?"

A smile grew on her face, "Thanks, Greg. Guess this means I'm staying after all!"

"What?" he asked, curious.

Augusta picked up her bag from the floor before turning to him, "Oh, I wasn't sure if I would be staying in London. I mean, I wasn't if I couldn't get you to give me the files, but since you are, I'm staying."

Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, "Thanks uncle Greg!"

She walked out of the office, leaving behind a confused Lestrade. She had just played him. Puppy eyes and all. He ran out of his office, calling out after her, "Augusta!"

Hearing her name being bellowed, she turned around, "Yeah?"

"How do I reach you? You didn't give me your mobile number."

She grinned and said, "Yes, I did," before walking towards the elevator.

Lestrade furrowed his brow before walking back into his office, sitting down at his desk. Sighing, he reached for his phone in his pocket when he felt something brush against his hand. As he pulled his hand out, he saw a scratch of paper with a phone number etched out on it, _call me._

The little sneak had put it in his pocket.

He chuckled as he dialed the Dover police headquarters.

TOP

That night, Augusta returned to 221B Baker Street with slightly higher spirits.

Mrs. Hudson seemed thrilled that she was finally renting out the flat upstairs. She hadn't gone into details of S.H.'s death which intrigued Augusta but she wasn't going to ask if it upset the older woman. She actually liked Mrs. Hudson.

"Would you like some dinner, Augusta? It's only eight, I could whip you up something, if you want dear," she asked as she closed the front door behind her.

Augusta, grateful but not hungry, said, "That's alright Mrs. Hudson, I'm fine. Could I head up?"

She motioned towards the stairs and Mrs. Hudson jumped into action, "Oh, of course dear! Of course."

She led Augusta upstairs and unlocked the door, "Here you go dear,"

She dropped another key, a replica, into Augusta's hand, "After all, it's yours now."

She turned back downstairs, calling out, "Sleep tight!" as she went.

Augusta entered the flat, sighing as the day's events flashed through her head. Locking the door behind her, she flipped on the lights and stood in the already furnished room. That's one thing she didn't have to worry about. But she was definitely asking Mrs. Hudson about repainting. The was atrocious.

Walking into the kitchen, she made her way right to the bedroom, a slight skip in her step. She had been dying to look inside the boxes. Her curiosity was a horrible burden to bear sometimes.

She opened the top box first, labeled, _S.H. books_

Inside was indeed books. Numerous and not exactly novels. Most were scientific books of some kind. Chemistry, geology, apiculture(?).

She flipped through a few books, deciding she would keep them, along with her own that she would be having shipped along with a few other things. She moved on to the box, _S.H. clothes_ next.

The top had been opened before. She could tell from the cardboard paper sticking to the tape as she pulled the tape off easily. She peered inside. Nothing special. Just shirts and pants. Though she took interest in the purple scarf lying on top. As she pulled it out, something fell. There was the sound of glass breaking.

Augusta jumped slightly when something wet splashed on her feet. Looking down, she saw a small vial of some kind lying in pieces. Carefully, Augusta squatted down and picked up the largest portion of the broke vial. Turning it over in her hand, she could make out a label, _4-AP_.

"Oh, sorry."

"Gah!"

Augusta jumped to her feet at the sound of a sudden voice echoing in the room. A man was standing in the doorway, a familiar man. It was the man she had nearly run into earlier. He was holding a plate of food in his hands.

She let out the breath she had been holding, "Don't do that!"

"I didn't mean to scare you, sorry...again," he said as he stepped into the room further, "Mrs. Hudson wanted me to bring you this."

"Oh, thank you," Augusta said as she dropped the scarf back into the box. When she did, the man followed it with his eyes, his face growing white. The plate in his hands slipping.

Augusta reached out quickly and caught it before it hit the ground. She studied the man in front of her. He looked as though he had seen a ghost, "Are you okay?"

She reached out and touched his shoulder, which caused the man to jerk. Pulling her hand back, she watched as his face went through several emotions. Disbelief, fear(?), joy, anger. "Um, do you want a glass of water or something?"

"What? Sorry, no." he said, with a edge in his voice.

He turned away and walked out of the bedroom, leaving Augusta alone holding a plate of food. She ventured out and saw the man sitting in a leather seat near the window, his hands folded in his lap, a far off look on his face.

Augusta set the plate on the table and slowly stepped towards the man, "Do you want to talk about it?"

He looked up at her, confused, "I'm sorry?"

She sat in the seat across from him, a cushioned chair with a red and green floral design, a plaid throw lying across the top, "You look like you need someone to talk to."

He almost scoffed, "I already have a therapist, thanks."

She grinned, "Yeah and they judge everything you say. They don't really listen to you though."

He tilted his head, "And you know about therapists, do you?"

"You could say I've been through my fair share," she said as she sat back, relaxing in the chair.

He pointed towards the room they had just been in, "That was his scarf; Sherlock's."

"S.H.? That's his name, Sherlock?" she asked, curiously.

He nodded, "Yup, Sherlock Holmes. He wore that damned thing everywhere!"

She noticed the small hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, but he tried to stop it from showing. "Mrs. Hudson told me that he died."

He nodded again, "Yeah."

As she looked at him, she wondered why he reacted the way he did when he saw the scarf.

"Funny thing is though, he died wearing that thing around his neck," he said suddenly, scratching at his forehead. He licked his lips and looked at her in silence.

Augusta scooted forward in the chair, "Is that why you almost dropped my dinner all over the floor?"

He laughed dryly, "No."

He looked at her, swallowing the lump forming in his throat, "That scarf shouldn't be here. Why is it here? He didn't die here. I saw it!"

Augusta watched as the man jumped to his feet and began walking back and forth in a furious pace. She couldn't help but ask, "Where should it be then?"

He stopped pacing.

"It should be in the ground, it was buried with him."

Augusta fell back in the chair, crossed her legs and said, "Well, that's curious."

The man looked down at her, blinking, "Sorry, what?"

She shook her head, "Nothing, I'm Augusta by the way, Augusta Prince."

She rose and offered her hand. He took it, "John Watson."

Augusta turned on her heels, "Would you like some of this? I don't think I'm that hungry."

John followed her into the kitchen, "No thanks. Um, what did you mean by that? What's curious?"

Augusta placed the plate of food in the refrigerator. Leaning on the open door slightly, she said, "Well, obviously someone dug up his grave and took the scarf. But that's only if he was actually buried with it."

John scoffed, "Oh course he was buried with it. I was there at the funeral, I saw it on him."

Augusta closed the frig door and sat down at the table, "Like I said; curious."

John sat down next to her at the table, "Who would do that? I've been to Sherlock's grave several times. There hasn't been anything out of place. Nothing has been dug up."

Augusta began kicking her feet back and forth, "Ah! Unless the dirt hadn't settled yet. They could have done it the night of the funeral when the soil was still loose."

John stared at her, "But...why? Oh my god!"

He jumped up, "What if someone stole his body. Oh my god!"

He pulled out his phone and Augusta felt guilty for shpeeling. He let out a deep breath, muttering to himself before whoever he was calling answered, "Yes, hello. It's, uh, me...listen, oh dear lord you wont believe this but...don't tell me to calm down!"

He had begun to yell but stopped himself, "Look, I think something happened to Sherlock. I know he's dead, I mean his body! No, I'm not taking any medica-just look into it. Please."

He hung up and ran a hand through his short cropped hair before facing Augusta again, "Um, I'm not sure if I should be thanking you, or what. But thanks."

He moved towards the door but was stopped by Augusta suddenly reaching out and grabbing his arm, "Wait."

John looked down at her. She bit her lip, looking sheepish, "What is it?"

"Can I come?" she asked, confusing John.

"Come where?"

She stood, "Well, you're going to the cemetery, right?"

He watched as she reached for her suitcase sitting next to the couch, "Yes I am but why do you want to come, you didn't know him."

She pulled out a light jacket before turning to him, shrugging, "True, but I'm curious."

He blinked, "You're curious? Why?"

She laughed softly, "Who wouldn't be? Why on earth would someone want to dig up your friend? He's dead, what's he got to offer?"

His eyes widened slightly, causing Augusta to hold out her hands in defense, "Sorry, I am so sorry! I didn't mean to say he wasn't important or anything, it's just, well he's dead."

He suddenly chuckled and shook his head, "No, it's fine."

John walked to the door and opened it, "Well, after you."

Augusta grinned and grabbed her bag, running out the door with John walking much slower behind her, shaking his head in confusion and slight wonder. What kind of woman wanted to go to a graveyard to see if there was a missing body simply out of curiosity?

"Are you coming, John?" she called, already downstairs.

Apparently Augusta Prince did.

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Until next time, leave a **REVIEW!**

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	4. Chapter Three

A/N: Hi readers! Chapter three is up and ready. Hope you enjoy! REMEMBER TO REVIEW!

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Chapter Three

John sat next to Augusta in the taxi in silence as they drove through the night towards the cemetery. He peered over at her out of the corner of his eye. She was looking out the window as the city of London flew by.

She was young, younger than him anyway. There was a gleam in her eye, an excitement. But why?

"So." He said, breaking the silence.

She turned her head, "Yes?"

"Why are you really coming?" he asked.

She furrowed her eyebrows and her lips puckered slightly at his question, "Like I said, it's curious. Besides, I didn't have anything better to do."

She gave a smile and turned back towards the window.

He turned fully to her in the car, "Really? You're really coming only because you're curious?"

She let out a chuckle, "Does it bother you?"

John wasn't sure if it did or not. There was something about this strange woman. She seemed "emotional" as Sherlock would say. It was easy to read her face, as though she wore her heart on her sleeve. But there was something that John just couldn't place.

"Were you close?" she suddenly asked, turning away from the window.

John looked away, "Sherlock wasn't very...open, you could say. Honest to a fault, sometimes too honest, but he was my best friend."

Swallowing, John continued, "He never told me a lie."

Augusta nodded, "I get it. My dad was the same way. He always told the truth even if it hurt your feelings. It annoyed my mom to no end."

"Yeah? Are they back in the states?" he asked.

Augusta, as if not hearing his question, said, "I wonder what someone would want with a body? Modern day grave robbers? He wasn't buried with anything valuable was he?"

John shook his head, "No, nothing like that."

They soon arrived at the cemetery and to Augusta's surprise, it was blocked off by police cars, "What's this?"

"Oh, probably Mycroft." John said as he opened the door to the taxi. Augusta wondered who Mycroft was as she exited the vehicle, reaching into her bag for some money to pay the cabbie.

"Keep the change," both she and John said as they leaned down through opposite windows. Both look at one another.

Augusta, closer to the driver handed him the money, "I got it, John."

John crossed the empty space were the taxi once sat and pocketed his hands, "I would have gotten it."

Augusta rolled her eyes, "Don't worry about it. Tell you what, why don't you buy me lunch or something if it makes you feel better."

John was hesitant but agreed, "Alright, lunch it is."

As they approached the gate of the blocked off cemetery, Augusta noticed the same annoying woman she had talked to at New Scotland Yard earlier that day. The woman approached them, crossing her arms, "What are you doing here, Dr. Watson? And who's this?"

John sighed. Augusta could tell he didn't like this woman by the way the vein in his neck tightened up. That made two of them. Augusta didn't like her one bit. John answered her, though sharply, "I was the one who called. Go tell Mycroft I'm here."

The woman cocked her head, a snide grin on her face, "What business is of yours?"

"What business?" John started. Stopping himself by taking a deep, frustrated breath.

Augusta opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by, to her surprise (and slight joy) Lestrade as he walked out of the gate and towards them, "What's going on, Donovan?"

So that's her name, Augusta thought, glaring mildly at her.

"Gusta? What are you doing here?" Lestrade asked, turning to her concerned.

Augusta smiled brightly at him, wiggling her fingers, "Hi Greg. I was just coming with John here. Moral support."

She took John's hand in hers and patted it gently before folding her hand in his. John looked down at their intertwined hands in confusion, "What?"

She looked up at him and motioned with her eyes towards Lestrade and Donovan, "Oh, right! Yes, support, morally. Wait, you know each other?"

He looked from Augusta to Lestrade, who had his hands on his hips and a look of aggravation on his face as he stared at Augusta, "Yes and she's leaving."

Augusta scoffed and folded her arms, "I am not!"

She sounded childish and looked like one by the way she stood stubbornly with her arms crossed. Lestrade didn't budge as he spoke to the woman, Donovan, "Take her back to wherever she's staying."

John watched as Augusta glared at Lestrade, growing frustrated, "Could we please just go and see if he's gone, please!"

Everyone looked at him at his sudden outburst, Augusta's face loosing it's scowl, "Yeah, sorry."

She turned to Lestrade, "I'll wait right here."

She walked over to one of the police cars and leaned against it with a coy smile, crossing her arms and legs. Lestrade shook his head and motioned for John to follow him, leaving Donovan behind. Lestrade turned to her, "Make sure she doesn't sneak it, she's good at that."

John raised an eyebrow at that, looking over at Augusta before following Lestrade into the cemetery.

TOP

"So you know her?" John asked as they walked through the cemetery, growing closer to the large tree where Sherlock had been buried.

Lestrade looked over at him, "I knew her dad from the academy. Brilliant man, probably the smartest man I knew before Sherlock. He retired from the force just after Augusta was born. Charles moved out to Dover to live the quiet life."

John listened to Lestrade, his voice had grown solemn as he described Augusta's father. He watched as Lestrade's face grew sad for a moment before he shook his head and looked forward, "We're just bringing him up now."

John's heart leapt up in his throat as he saw the hole in the ground, a lift had been brought in to raise up the casket from the wet earth. Off to the side stood Mycroft, beside him stood his assistant, Anthea typing away on her blackberry that seemed to be glued to her hands. Her attention was focused on the tiny screen instead of the casket being lifted from the ground.

Mycroft was watching the lift carefully, his face void of emotion. As John and Lestrade grew closer, Mycroft turned to them, "John."

John nodded his head in greeting, "Mycroft."

Lestrade cleared his throat, "So, why do you thing someone stole his body?"

John turned to Lestrade, "Um, his scarf was at the flat."

The detective inspector gave him an incredible look, "we're digging up a gave because you found a scarf?"

Mycroft turned to Lestrade, "No, detective inspector. You're digging up the grave because the scarf was buried around Sherlock's neck and miraculously appeared elsewhere. Right John?"

John stuttered a bit, "Yeah, t-that's right. But I didn't find it, Augusta did."

"Augusta?" Lestrade asked. Mycroft looked curious but said nothing.

"Yeah, she moved into the flat," John said simply, though by the look of Lestrade's face, he wasn't happy.

"She's actually moving here!" he said in frustration.

"In Sherlock's old flat, apparently." Mycroft added, turning to the casket that was now dangling in the air as it was moved away from the six feet hole. It was slowly lowered, the lift beeping loudly. Once set down, the three men approached the casket.

John was conflicted. He both wanted and didn't want Sherlock to be in the casket. He hoped that Augusta was wrong and that Sherlock would still be lying inside, but at the same time, he didn't want to see his friend's body in such a state. He was a doctor after all, he knew what it would look like if he was inside. And he didn't want to see that.

Lestrade motioned for two officers to lift the lid of the casket. Mycroft stood beside John along side the casket, waiting to look inside. Taking a breath, John prepared himself. The lid of the casket creaked as dirt slid to the ground as it lifted, the smell of earth feeling the air. But to John's surprise, there was no smell of rotten flesh and decay, just earth.

"What the hell?" Lestrade exclaimed, staring down into the casket in bewilderment.

John couldn't say anything, too much in shock.

The casket was empty. But it wasn't just that. It was as if there had never been a body there. The state of Sherlock's body after five months would have left behind something! But there was nothing inside! No body, no residue, no signs of insect activity. Nothing!

"Well," Mycroft said, breaking the silence.

He turned to John, "I think a meeting with this Augusta is in order."

Mycroft walked away from the empty casket, followed by Anthea who didn't look up from her blackberry. John watched him leave, shocked that Mycroft hadn't shown any reaction to the fact that his brother's body was missing! Augusta had been right. But how? How could she have possibly have worked it out in a matter of minutes?

"John?" Lestrade said, concerned when he saw the doctor's face. His mouth was gapping slightly and his eyes were glued to the empty casket.

"What?" John asked, shaking out of his stupor.

Lestrade sighed shakily, "What is this, John?"

John shook his head, "I have no idea."

TOP

Augusta tapped her foot impatiently as she leaned against the police car. The woman, Donovan, stood in front of her, watching her with a calculating gaze. Augusta couldn't help but stare back, mocking her gaze with her own. It had been a good fifteen minutes or so since she had been left behind, her curiosity still itching. She wondered if she had been right. A man walked out of the open gate, followed by a woman wearing a light black dress suit. He stopped and looked around before he settled on her.

He walked towards her, an umbrella in his hand. He was tall and lanky and had a neatly trimmed haircut. He wore a rather nice and probably expensive three-piece suit. He stood in front of her, the woman standing back somewhat as if giving them privacy, though Augusta didn't really think she was paying that much attention due to her face hypnotized by her phone.

He stared at her, as if studying her.

This annoyed her, "Can I help you?"

A charming smile graced his face as she asked him this, he leaned against his umbrella like a cane, "Augusta is it? What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

Though his voice was laced with charm, Augusta couldn't help but feel as though she was about to be interrogated. "I'm sorry?"

He took a step forward, "How did you come to the conclusion that the body of Sherlock Holmes had been removed? Come now, a simple scarf couldn't have led you to think such a thing."

"I don't have any connection to him. Well, other than moving into the same flat. Now why," she said, pushing herself off the car, " do you want to know?"

"I'm his brother," he offered his hand, "Mycroft Holmes."

Augusta shook his hand, "Hi."

"I suppose I should thank you for bringing this incident to light. Thank you," he said, pocketing his hand in his trousers while leaning on his umbrella. Augusta raised a brow. He thought he was being charming, was he?

"Two and two makes four, Mr. Holmes, " she said, "I thought it through, is all."

Out of the gate came John and Lestrade, walking towards them slowly. Augusta turned to John, a look of worry on her face when she saw how pale he was, "John?"

"You were right," he said, licking his lips as his eyes blinked rapidly, "You were right. He's not there."

Augusta bit her lip, reaching out to touch his shoulder but stopped herself, "John, I didn't mean to get you upset."

He shook his head, "No, thank you. Really, thanks."

She nodded, "Welcome."

Mycroft interrupted them by stepped in-between them, looking down at Augusta, " I wonder, how were you able to deduct that his body had been taken?"

Augusta sighed and threw her head back, looking up at the night sky, "God, you keep asking that! Look, John said he had been buried with it, right? Well the only conclusion is that he was dug up since his scarf found its way back to the flat. But that's not the question you should be asking, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft looked at her curiously, "Oh, and what question should I be asking?"

She looked at the three men standing in front of her before turning directly to Mycroft, "The question, Mr. Holmes, is why did that scarf get back to the flat? Why on earth would a grave robber return a piece of clothing from a dead man's body, to the flat he lived in when he was alive? It doesn't make sense."

John cut in, "Wait, are you saying someone left it there on purpose? Why? That would just gain attention."

Augusta nodded, "Exactly. Someone, whoever did this, wanted us to know what happened."

"By leaving a scarf?" asked Lestrade, somewhat dumbly.

Augusta blinked, "Weren't you listening, Greg? Of course by leaving the scarf! Whoever did this, knew who Sherlock Holmes was and knew where he lived. They were able to get into the flat without force, so they had access to it. Probably a key. They left the scarf in the box on purpose to be found, probably by John since he lived there."

Lestrade shook his head and held out his hand to stop Augusta's rant, "Now just hold on Gusta. Don't jump to conclusions."

"I'm not Greg!" she said frustrated.

"Impressive, I must say," Mycroft said, giving another charming smile, "Have you given any thought of working for the government?"

Augusta looked at him before grinning, "No, I haven't Mr. Holmes. Why? Offering me a job?"

Mycroft blinked, "What makes you think I work for the government?"

She just stared, "You just told me."

He rolled his eyes, John grinned. Mycroft pushed off his umbrella and said, "Well, what if I were to offer you a job?"

"I'd say no," she said quickly, "I don't do well with authority."

Lestrade was quick to agree, "She's right. Augusta's never done well with being told what to do."

She nodded, "It's true."

Mycroft turned to leave but turned to Lestrade, "I'll be in touch."

He walked towards a black car and held the door open for the woman who had remained silent through their conversation before getting in himself. Augusta turned to John and Lestrade, "So, I was right."

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "Yes, you were right Augusta."

He walked away, leaving Augusta alone with John. They began walking down the sidewalk in silence, leaving the newly identified crime scene behind, "Are you alright?"

John looked at her when she asked him this, "I don't know. Who would do this?"

Augusta shook her head, "I don't know, did he have any enemies?"

John laughed, "You have no idea. But he's dead, they're probably all celebrating, why would they did up his body?"

Augusta didn't say anything, she didn't want to upset John anymore than he already was. They hailed a taxi and made their way back to the flat where Mrs. Hudson had already gone to bed. John walked Augusta to the door of _her_ new flat and bid her good night before heading back to the hostel. Once inside, Augusta dropped her bag on the floor and shuffled into the bedroom, happy that there was a bed.

Falling forward, Augusta hit the bed with a bounce and wiggled into the mattress. She looked down at the floor and noticed the broken vial she had dropped earlier. She had no desire to clean it up but she forced herself off the bed and dropped to her knees carefully to finish picking up the tiny pieces of glass, knowing that in the morning she would be too groggy to notice the shards of sharp glass and would cut her feet.

She picked up the large piece she had looked up earlier and ventured into the kitchen where she dropped the pieces of glass into the trash. She looked down into the bin, thinking. What was _4-AP_ ?

Augusta couldn't help but walk over to her bag and dig out her Iphone. Sitting down in the leather chair she typed in _4-AP_ into a search engine. She was rewarded with a list of words, mostly scientific terms _(4-Aminopyridine,fampridine,Fampyra)_

She looked up _famridine_ and found that her curiousity just grew even more.

_Famridine - drug shown to reverse __saxitoxin__ and __tetrodotoxin__ toxicity in tissue and animal experiments. _

What was tetrodotoxin? She quickly looked it up and read.

_Tetrodotoxin - a potent __neurotoxin.__ The mechanism of toxicity is through the blockage of fast voltage-gated sodium channels. These are required for the normal transmission of signals between the body and brain, as a result, causes paralysis of voluntary muscles (including the diaphragm, stopping breathing), the loss of vagal regulation of heart rate, and loss of sensation. _

Why was there a bottle of _famridine_ wrapped up in a dead man's scarf? An apparent cure to a neurotoxin that paralyzed the victim.

"Hn. Curious."

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Please, please review!

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	5. Chapter Four

A/N: Conspiracy, conspiracy! I am impressed with your thoughts, guys! The only way to find out the truth is to keep reading, so hang in there! Enjoy! P.S., I hope you can stand cliffhangers. Remember to REVIEW!

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Chapter Four

It had been a week since the discovery of the missing body of Sherlock Holmes, and Augusta was growing more and more anxious. She wanted to know what was happening! She had spoken to Lestrade and he had told her to politely buzz off and stay out of it. The good news was though, that her mother's files were being sent to New Scotland Yard and should be arriving any day.

Augusta had showered and changed into a pair of jean shorts with a studded belt, and a white lace peasant top. Her hair was wild as ever. She went barefoot as she was taking the day to get the flat in order. Her mind was occupied with thoughts of the previous week. Everything was so interesting! She felt bad for John though; she hadn't meant to bring up old wounds. She had run into him when he had been visiting Mrs. Hudson. Augusta had promptly baked him a pie.

"It's to make you feel better," she had said as she handed him the still warm blackberry pie.

John had taken it with some reluctance but returned the next day with her empty plate, "It was just so good," he said, looking guilty as he stepped into the flat.

He had stayed a while, talking. It seemed like he needed someone just to talk to. Augusta was careful not to say anything about Sherlock; she learned early on not to pester people about sensitive subjects. After all, she completely understood about losing loved ones.

During his visit to his old flat, John learned that Augusta had a love of baking. There was another pie lying on the table in the kitchen, peach this time, "How is it that you're so thin?" he had asked, regretting it as soon as he asked.

She laughed and said, "By not eating them. I usually just give them away."

"Then why bake them?" he asked, confused.

Augusta had simply shrugged and said, "It keeps me occupied."

Today, Augusta was fixing up the flat. She didn't have the heart to get rid of Sherlock's things so she had stacked them inside the closet of the bedroom, carefully. She had kept the scarf, surprised no one had come to claim it as evidence. She kept it hanging on the headboard of the bed, out of John's sight as to not upset him further.

Mrs. Hudson popped her head in with an "ooh-hoo!" with two men behind her, "Augusta dear, there are some men here with your things."

"Thanks Mrs. Hudson," she said as she opened the door wide, allowing her new landlady and the movers inside.

Mrs. Hudson sighed and looked around the living room, "I hope you can do something with this place, Augusta. Sherlock left it in such a mess!"

Augusta smiled, "I think I can handle it. I'm going to repaint the walls and fix the bullet holes over there," she said, pointing at the three holes in the living room wall.

Mrs. Hudson turned to her, "Thank you dear, I'll be sure to reduce your rent for the month for all your work. It was so lovely of you to offer to fix up the place."

Augusta watched as the movers began bringing in box after box, "It's no problem, really."

She offered Mrs. Hudson some of the peach pie to take to Mrs. Turner next door for their game of scratch-cards, who took it gladly, "You make such wonderful pies, dear."

Augusta ushered her off before she could say anything else, wanting to get the moving over and done with. She couldn't believe it took so long for moving to take! She carefully watched the movers, insuring that they didn't break anything on the way up the stairs. Once they had completed bringing up her furniture, she offered them the rest of the pie resting on the kitchen table for their work.

"Thanks very much, ma'am," the younger of the two said, taking a seat at the table and gobbling the pie up, barely leaving a slice for the older man, who was sweating profusely. Augusta gave him a glass of water and forced him to sit down, "I insist."

She leaned against the counter and made small talk with them, the pair were apparently father and son. After they had gone, Augusta was left to an even more cluttered flat. Groaning, Augusta maneuvered herself around, deciding to do the bedroom first. Since the closet was occupied with boxes, Augusta filled her moulin noir dresser with clothes. She removed the periodic table hanging from the wall and placed it into the closet.

She chose not to bring her bed, since there was already one here. Jumping on to the queen size bed, Augusta pulled what appeared to be some kind of certificate written in kanji and studied it. Hoping down, she added it to the closet.

Augusta returned to the living room to search for the boxes meant for her room, finding them with some difficulty. She grunted as she pushed the boxes through the kitchen and into the room. It took a while but she eventually had the room done.

She had removed the sheets from the bed, deciding to get rid of them, and replaced them with a new gray duvet. She had some trouble, but she managed to slide her armoire against the wall, on the other side of the bed. At the foot of the bed, she placed her antique rococo chest that had belonged to her mother. She had taken it from the house in Dover when she was sixteen during her last visit to England. Running a loving hand over it, she made sure no scratches marred the surface of the intricately carved ebony wood.

In the corner of the room, next to the small window, Augusta set her father's favorite chair; another item she had taken from the house in Dover. She had vivid memories of sitting with him in that chair as he read to her or taught her things. It was a black and silver wingback, with pinstripes running over the material. Under the window, she placed a small bookcase, filling it with her favorite poets. She always found that poetry lulled her to sleep quickly (though she enjoyed poetry greatly!)

At last, when the room was finished, Augusta looked around proudly before the smile of victory on her face fell as the thought of tackling the remainder of the flat filled her mind.

TOP

"Oh, my goodness!"

Augusta turned away from the mantle when Mrs. Hudson entered the flat, careful not to knock over the skull she had placed there. She had found it while going through the boxes the day before. She had fondly dubbed him, Humphrey the Skull. He looked like a Humphrey.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson," she said as she flicked a bit of dried paint form her cheek.

Mrs. Hudson entered flat and took in the modifications. The clutter was gone from earlier that morning and revealed a more open area. Augusta had kept the two chairs near the fireplace and had integrated her own books into the books already sitting on the two bookshelves. The walls had been repainted a deep green except for the wall supporting the leather coach. It remained the same black and white design, minus the bullet holes. Surprisingly, the smiley face remained. Though the skull poster no longer donned the wall.

Sitting between the two large windows was a baby grand piano, replacing the small desk that had been there before. It had been Augusta's mothers. The bull skull remaining hanging on the wall, above the piano. Between the far right bookshelf and left window was a writing desk, a deep mahogany wood with a matching chair.

"My, Augusta you certainly got squared away, didn't you," Mrs. Hudson said as she looked around the now clean flat, "You play?"

The landlady motioned towards the piano. Augusta, who was making a pile of the now broken down boxes, dusted off her hands and looked at her mother's piano, "Some, my mom was a genius though. She was a pianist."

"Really, that must have been exciting!" Mrs. Hudson said as she walked into the kitchen with the empty plate she had taken earlier, the peach pie long gone. She set the plate in the sink and looked around the kitchen.

It was different only in that there were no tubes or strange experiments lying around. Augusta had done very little to the kitchen other than added a few things. There was a spice rack hanging above the now clean stove and a few canisters on the counter that appeared to be flour and sugar.

Augusta leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, "I wouldn't know. She retired just after I was born. She wanted to be a stay at home mom, apparently. Though I do remember her always playing after dinner. My dad always insisted on it."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at the lovely thought, "You're close to your parents then, dear?"

Augusta smiled softly, "I was."

Mrs. Hudson titled her head but didn't say anything else about it as she popped her head into the bedroom, leaving Augusta alone to continue making her pile of boxes. John had been kind enough to volunteer in helping her get rid of them. They were going to lunch later anyhow.

Looking down at herself, she cringed. She looked horrid.

"Mrs. Hudson, just let yourself out when you're done, I'm popping into the shower!" she called as she entered the bathroom.

TOP

The hot water spilled over her, earning a moan of relaxation from Augusta. She ran her hands harshly over her skin, trying to remove the green paint. Looking down, she saw the colored water circle the drain. While scrubbing at her scalp, Augusta heard a thump come from somewhere in the flat.

Growing still, Augusta leaned towards the curtain to listen carefully. There was nothing.

Quickly rinsing her hair, Augusta turned off the water and grabbed a tower. Wrapping it around her, she leaned her ear against the door. All she could hear was the circulating air. Slowly, she opened the door and poked her head out. Looking first towards the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson had already left, calling out a goodbye and had shut the door behind her. She walked through the kitchen, holding the towel against her chest. Looking into the living room, Augusta once again saw nobody in her flat.

Making an "hmm" sound in her throat, she walked back through the kitchen and into the bathroom to dry her hair and get ready for lunch with John. As she dropped the towel on the edge of the tub, she heard the thump again. She threw on her clothes as quick as possible and threw open the door. Running into the living room, she looked around once again. There was nothing there.

Perhaps she was just hearing things but usually, Augusta's intuition was right. She returned to the bathroom and dried her hair. Twenty minutes later, Augusta looked herself over in her full length mirror in the bedroom. As she stared at her reflection, she heard a knock followed by John's voice, "Augusta?"

Grabbing her bag from the wingback chair, Augusta walked into the living room to see John sitting in "his" chair, "Hey John."

He rose from the chair and offered a smile, "Wow, you look lovely."

Augusta looked down at the dress she wore; the same floral summer dress she had worn last week, "Thanks. So where are we going for lunch?"

"Um, this nice little cafe near the clinic where I work," he said as he opened the door, motioning for her to go first.

"Thank you," she said as she passed. John closed the door behind them, leaving the newly refurbished flat behind.

TOP

"So, turns out the git was doing an experiment! An experiment for god's sake, on me no less! I'm crawling around under a bloody sheet, scared out of my mind, thinking there's some mutated beast on the other side about to eat me!"

Augusta burst into laughter and fell back in her chair, "No! You must have been terrified."

John set down his cup of coffee and leaned against the table. They had sat outside since it was nice and sunny, "Of course I was, but that didn't matter to him."

She patted his hand, "Don't worry, we'll find him."

He looked at her curiously, "We?"

She picked up her glass of cold tea (something John thought was rather weird, as did the server whom Augusta had to argue with to get it) and sipped from the straw before saying, "Of course "we" John. I'm too curious now."

He chuckled and shook his head, "Of course."

He looked up and saw a flash of red hair. He did a double take and saw Mary approaching down the sidewalk. Augusta followed his gaze and grinned, "Do you know her?"

"Sorry, what?" he asked, turning back to her.

Augusta nodded her head in Mary's direction, "That woman, do you know her?"

He cleared his throat, "Uh, yeah actually. I was supposed to, um, call her."

"But you haven't, "Augusta said, setting her glass down and crossing her arms, "Why?"

He chuckled, "It's complicated."

Augusta merely stared at him, lifting a single brow. He rolled his eyes and fell back against his chair, "Fine! We dated at university. I joined the military and she didn't want that, so we broke up. I never really got over it."

She looked over at the redhead as she grew closer. She surprised John as she rose from her seat and ran after Mary. John rose and was about to follow when the server returned. He stopped and sat back down, a nervous knot forming in his stomach. What was Augusta doing?

Looking after her, he watched as Augusta tapped Mary gently on the shoulder. Turning around, Mary gave her a curious look. He couldn't hear what they were talking about, but turned around quickly when Mary looked behind Augusta and towards him, "Jesus," he muttered.

The two women walked back to the table, Augusta sitting back in her chair, "John, look who it is."

John glared at her (which Augusta merely blinked innocently) before looking up at Mary, "Oh, hello Mary. Funny seeing you here."

He rose and was pulled into a hug by Mary, "Yes, funny that."

When she pulled away she popped his shoulder slightly, "You haven't called me."

He scratched the back of his neck, "Yeah, about that..."

"You should take her out to dinner to make up for that, John," Augusta said, interrupting his train of thought.

"What?" he asked, looking down at her sharply.

She didn't say anything else, too occupied sipping on her iced tea. John looked back at Mary and saw what appeared to be a hopeful expression on her face. Pocketing his hands as to not show them shaking, he stuttered, "W-would you like to? Have dinner?"

Mary smiled, "I would love that."

They stared at one another, leaving Augusta to feel like a bit awkward. Rising from her chair, she said, "I think I'll head over to the library. Thanks for lunch, John."

Before he could say anything, Augusta grabbed her bag and walked in the opposite direction, calling out, "It was nice meeting you, Mary!"

John turned back to Mary and smiled, "Want a coffee?"

TOP

Augusta grinned as she disappeared around the corner, leaving John and Mary alone. She really wasn't going to the library but she wanted to give them some alone time. It was clear by the look on his face that John still had feelings for this Mary person.

She noticed a taxi sitting on the corner and walked quickly towards it. She opened the door and got inside before anyone could grab it before her. Signing as she adjusted herself, she said, "Baker Street, please."

The driver looked at her, a confused look on her face. Wondering why the cabbie was staring at her like she was an idiot, she realized something. There was already someone in the taxi. It was a man, a few years older than her. With black hair and eyes that were hidden behind a pair of what appeared to be designer sunglasses. He wore a rather nice suit and had an amused smirk on his face as he stared at her.

She felt embarrassed as she sat there like an idiot. She gave a nervous laugh, "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there."

The man, who had been on his phone suddenly hung up on whoever he had been speaking too without a goodbye and placed the phone in his coat pocket, "That's alright. I don't mind sharing. Baker Street, was it?"

Augusta nodded, surprised that the man wasn't complaining or kicking her out, "That's right. But I don't want to hold you up."

He waved his hand dismissively, "Not a problem. Baker Street," he said to the cabbie, who nodded.

She sat back in the seat and gave a thankful smile to the man sitting on the other side of the taxi. He openly stared at her, making her feel conscious, "What? Do I have food in my teeth or something?"

He looked away, chuckling, "No, you're just have a stunning smile."

Augusta blinked. What?

"Excuse me?" she asked, unsure if she heard right.

He removed his glasses and placed them in his breast pocket, revealing two brown eyes, which gleamed mischievously, "What's your name?"

She raised both eyebrows at his forwardness. She laughed and said, "Why should I tell you? You could be a complete psychopath, luring me to my death."

He let out a laugh of his own and licked his lips, looking as though thinking of something, "I'm Tom."

He stuck out his hand, which Augusta took with humor, "hello."

When she didn't say her name, he looked out the window. They were sitting in silence when suddenly Tom turned back, "You know, usually when someone tells you their name, you return the favor."

He looked back out the window, "It's the polite thing to do."

She grinned, looking out her own window, "What makes you think I'm polite?"

While she watched London roll by, Tom looked at her, the gleam in his eye brightening, "So you're not? I'm sorry, weren't you the one who apologized for stealing my cab back there?"

Augusta didn't let him see the grin on her face, removing it before turning to face him, "Why do you want to know my name?"

He leaned in close, asking curiously, "I can't know the name of the pretty girl sharing my cab? Why not?"

"Because I don't know you," she said quickly.

He shrugged, "We hardly ever know a person. Not really. So let's have it; what's your name?"

She shook her head, before blurting out, "Mary, my name is Mary."

She looked over at him, "Happy?"

He crossed his legs and looked at her with a little annoyance, "No it's not."

Augusta crossed her arms defensively, "Oh really, how do you figure that?"

"You said it dismissively and far too quickly," he said, giving a triumphed look. Augusta opened her mouth to argue when the taxi came to a stop. Looking out the window, Augusta saw that they had arrived to Baker Street.

Augusta turned to Tom, "Well, it was nice to meet you Tom. Thanks for sharing the cab. Here,"

She dug into her bag and began searching for some money when she felt a hand grasp her wrist, "If you pull out so much as a pence, I'll make you regret it."

Augusta looked at him curious, "And how would you do that?"

He released her hand, grinning, "I'd force you to ride around London with me in this cab until you tell me your name."

She laughed and held her hands up in defeat, "Fine, be chivalrous."

Stepping out of the taxi, she made her way down the street towards her door only to look over and laugh. The taxi was rolling along slowly as she walked, Tom 's head sticking out of the window, "What are you doing?"

He shrugged, leaning against the open window, "Admiring the view."

She stopped walking and placed her hands on her hips, "You think you're so charming, do you?"

The taxi stopped and Tom stepped out, making sure the cabbie remained put before approaching Augusta. He stood in front of her, hands in his pockets, "A name, that's all I want. What's the harm, love?"

Her head tilted and she gave him a somewhat annoyed (though slightly flattered) look, "If I tell you my name, will you go away?"

He pulled out a hand from his pocket and made a crisscross motion across his chest, "Cross my heart."

She sighed before looking up at him, "Fine, you win."

"Oh, how I love it when I do, darling," he said, a look of victory crossing his face.

"Augusta," she said with some reservation.

He pulled his glasses from his breast pocket and slid them over his eyes, giving a smile, "Now, was that so hard, love?"

Tom reentered the taxi and waved as drove off, leaving Augusta alone on the sidewalk in front of her flat.

She walked into 221B and up the stairs to her flat and headed straight to her bedroom to lounge on her bed, a desire to read overcoming her (or rather, to distract her from thinking of the man she had just met).

She picked out Keats and flopped on to the bed with a bounce. She fluffed up a pillow and leaned back against the headboard. As she sat there, however, she had a feeling that there was something not quite right. Looking up, she finally noticed what had been bothering her earlier, before she had left for lunch with John.

Rising from the bed quickly, she looked around the room for anything amiss. As she turned to look at the bed, she let out a slight gasp. She had been keeping the purple scarf on the headboard of the bed, for safekeeping. But there was a problem. The scarf was no longer hanging there. In fact, the scarf wasn't even in the room. The scarf was gone.

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Please in the name of all that is holy, review!

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	6. Chapter Five

A/N: Wow, I feel so flattered from all of the theories you guys have! I know I didn't update yesterday but it was July 4th so I was out having fun with the family. But here is the next installment, so enjoy. Keep those theories rolling! REVIEW!

P.s, check out a picture of Augusta on my profile page.

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Chapter Five

John stopped short at the sight in front of him. Augusta sat in front of the open door, staring into the keyhole. Mrs. Hudson had called him, saying that someone had broken into the flat and that Augusta was scouring the flat, tearing it apart. Luckily, Mary seemed to understand and called in a rain check on dinner.

"Are you okay?" he asked, causing Augusta to look away from the keyhole, "I'm fine."

Standing, she dusted off her knees and entered the flat. John followed. As he looked around the once clean living room, he realized that Mrs. Hudson had been indeed correct in her description of the flat. It was a mess. Books were lying everywhere and papers were skewed across the top of the piano, "Then why on earth are you running about like a headless chicken?"

She stopped and turned, "It's missing, John."

"What's missing?" he asked, perplexed.

"The scarf," she said as she entered her bedroom, John following. She pointed at her headboard, "It was there this morning and now it's gone. Someone came into the flat and took it."

He looked unconvinced, "Someone broke it and stole Sherlock's scarf? Who? Why?"

She shrugged, "I don't know but they had a key! There wasn't any forced entry. I was in the shower and heard noises; it must have been the intruder."

John took her by the shoulders and led her into the living room, forcing her to sit down. Kneeling in front of her, he said, "Alright, calm down. Now, you say they didn't force their way in, that they must have had a key. The only people who have keys to the flat are you, Mrs. Hudson, and me,"

He jiggled his set of keys. He had been given his key back since he had been coming over nearly every day since Augusta moved in. Augusta looked up, "True. Then tell me John, how did they get in without breaking in the door? I barely noticed the noises."

John sighed and sat down in his chair across from her, "I don't know,"

Just then, running footsteps could be heard from the stairwell. Lestrade came barreling in, out of breath, "Augusta!"

Augusta smiled and waved half-heartedly, "Hey, Greg."

"Are you alright?" he said, touching her cheek.

She nodded, brushing his hand away, "Yeah. Did Mrs. Hudson call you? I told her not to."

She rose from the chair and walked towards the window, looking outside. Lestrade's car was parked, lights whirling and all. She tapped her finger against the glass as she leaned her forehead against the cool surface, "There are scratches along the keyhole; they're too small to be from a key."

John blinked, "Someone picked the lock then."

Augusta sighed, "Why would someone break in and steal a scarf, of all things, a scarf?"

Lestrade pulled off his coat and threw it on the back of John's chair, "Is it alright if I get something to drink, Gusta?"

She nodded, "Sure."

While he walked into the kitchen, John knelt down where Augusta had been moments ago to look at the lock himself. Augusta bent over, crossing her arms as she watched him look around the keyhole, "See, there's small scratches just there."

John did indeed notice the small scratches. It appeared as though someone used some kind of tool to unlock the door.

"DEAR LORD!"

Augusta jumped and John nearly fell over when Lestrade screamed from the kitchen. They ran in and saw Lestrade leaning against the table, the back of his hand covering his mouth and nose. The refrigerator door was wide open, leaving Augusta and John to see what was lying inside. Augusta's mouth fell open as she grew closer. Lestrade, seeing her approach, reacted by trying to force her out of the kitchen, "You don't need to see this, Gusta."

She tried to break away from his grasp but John helped Lestrade in removing her, "Would you stop it? Fine, fine I'll stay out!"

She sat in the leather chair and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. John and Lestrade reentered the kitchen and stared at what lied in the refrigerator. "What do you suppose this means?"

John looked from the refrigerator to Lestrade as he asked, his face growing serious with worry. Lestrade swallowed the lump in his throat, "I don't know but I'm calling in forensics."

As Lestrade pulled out his phone and stepped into the hall, John uncomfortably looked back at the open refrigerator. Staring back at him was the severed head of a dog.

TOP

Augusta sat in the chair, her leg bouncing in agitation, "Is this really necessary?"

John placed a hand on her shoulder, "They'll be done soon, Augusta."

She sighed and watched as people scoured her flat, searching for any evidence of the intruder. She really didn't like it when people messed with her things. Lestrade walked into the flat and gave a pitiful smile, "Alright, Gusta?"

She rolled her eyes, "Of course not, Greg! Who leaves a severed head in the frig?"

John looked from the back of her head to Lestrade, sharing a look before looking back down at Augusta, "Don't worry, we'll figure this out."

She jumped to her feet and grabbed her coat, "I'm going for a walk!"

"Augusta, wait!" Lestrade called out as she flew down the stairway, not bothering to turn back.

He let out a growl of agitation, turning towards Anderson,"Well, anything?"

Anderson, tall and pale with a snobbish air about him and a slightly nasally voice, said, "Other than a severed head of a Bloodhound? No."

"Nothing?" John asked, turning from the window where he had watched Augusta disappear down the street, "There has to be something."

Anderson pulled off his latex gloves, "There's nothing here. Not even a fingerprint. We'll send it to St. Bart's for closer examination."

Lestrade sighed, discouraged, "Fine."

Turning to John, he said, "When she gets back, tell Augusta to give me a call, will you? I'll worry if she doesn't."

"Yes of course," John said, walking him to the door, "I'll wait here for her."

Lestrade nodded and shook John's hand before leaving with Anderson and the forensic team, John left alone in his former residence. It felt almost eery for him to be alone in the flat. Augusta had kept it relatively the same with only a few differences, including a piano and a different wall color. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of the yellow smiley face that had remained on the wall in front of him.

He had noticed that Augusta had not really thrown away anything belonging to Sherlock, integrating it with her own belongings. She even had Sherlock's skull friend (whom she had informed was now named Humphrey) resting on the mantle as before.

John found himself standing outside Augusta's room (formally Sherlock's) and stared at the closed door. Slowly, he opened the door and walked inside. It was drastically different than when Sherlock took up residence. It was more homely. A picture sat on top of the small bookshelf sitting under the window. It was a framed photograph of a man and woman embracing each other, love etched across their faces.

He sighed, shook his head, and left the room, shutting the door behind him. John quickly walked through the kitchen and into the living room where he turned on the television and waited for Augusta to return, missing the sudden sound of a woman's moan coming from the boxed filled closet in Augusta's room.

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The smell of coffee hit his nose. He moved and regretted it as his back popped and his neck stiffened. John groaned as he sat up on the couch. He had fallen asleep.

"Good morning," came Augusta's voice from the kitchen, walking out with a cup of coffee in her hand. She leaned against the archway of the kitchen and tilted her head at him, "Are you alright?"

He rubbed his neck as he stood, "Not sure, ask me again after I've had coffee."

She chuckled as John passed her as he entered the kitchen and directly towards the coffee maker. She had arrived home to find John conked out on the couch, the television going. She had covered him up with a throw before heading to bead. She figured Greg forced him to stay and make sure she got home. She was more than sure that Greg also ordered him to tell her to call him, which she did (covering for John, "Of course he did, Greg!").

Dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms and a tank top, Augusta curled up in the leather chair to watch some TV, holding her cup of warm coffee to her chest, blowing across the top to cool it.

Yawning, John reentered the living room and flopped down in his chair, "What's on the tele?"

Augusta tossed him the remote, "Don't know, why don't you find something."

He turned it to the news as he always did in the morning. Augusta sighed heavily. She hated the news. The anchorwoman on the television was in the midst of speaking, "...prominent philanthropist and art enthusiast, Margaret Kingsley was found dead this morning in her Hampstead penthouse. Apparently the victim of a home invasion, Mrs. Kingsley is suspected to have been murdered after walking in on the robbery. But what is even more bizarre is her prized bloodhound was also discovered, decapitated, next to Mrs. Kingsley in her study."

John chocked on his coffee and Augusta's mouth fell open, "What did she just say!"

Before John could say anything, the phone rang.

Augusta looked from the television to John. The phone rang again before she picked it up, "Hello?"

"Augusta, have you seen the news?" asked Lestrade, frantic.

She almost laughed, "Yeah just did actually."

TOP

"Wow, this is nice," Augusta said as she stepped out of the squad car, looking around the very expensive neighborhood.

John stepped out from the other side, agreeing with her as he looked around the very posh surroundings. Lestrade had sent a car for them as soon as Augusta got off the phone, taking them to the high end area of Hampstead. John was curious as to why he asked Augusta to come to the crime scene. Sure she had an obvious connection to Mrs. Kingsley; her dog's head was in Augusta's refrigerator the night before, after all.

They were escorted past the news cameras and on-seerers and past the police tape into the redbrick multistory building. Augusta peered behind her, back outside at the flash of cameras.

They were escorted up the elevator by an officer up to the penthouse where Lestrade was waiting with Donovan; much to Augusta's annoyance (she really didn't like the woman).

"Alright, we're here. What was so important that you couldn't tell us over the phone?" she asked.

Lestrade motioned for them to follow, "Margaret Kingsley. Sixty-two years old, found this morning by her daughter. We think it was a robbery gone wrong."

"What did they take?" John asked as they reached the door to Mrs. Kingsley's study.

Lestrade crossed his arms as he halted and turned, "A painting, well they tried to take it."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Augusta asked, "Why do you think that?"

Lestrade ushered them into the study, handing them each a pair of gloves and to Augusta's distaste, booties. They had already removed Mrs. Kingsley's body and forensics was sweeping the place. Lying on the ground was a large framed painting. The frame was golden and the painting was large, possibly 3x5 feet. It was face down on the floor of the room.

"There's something else," Lestrade said, hesitant.

He turned to a nearby forensic who handed him an evidence bag. He turned back, sighed, and handed it to John, "Oh my god."

Augusta looked down in his hands and her eyes widened. In John's hands was Sherlock's scarf, separated by plastic. She looked at Lestrade, "where was it?"

Lestrade pointed to the desk in the room, "Lying right on the desk, nice and neat."

John shook his head, unable to speak.

Lestrade took the bag and handed it back to the forensic, "We'll be running a few tests to see if anything comes up on it, but we're pretty sure that whoever broke into your flat was responsible."

Augusta gave him a mild look that expressed disbelieve. Of course it was the same person. Lestrade said the most obvious things at times.

She placed a hand on John's shoulder, who turned to her and said, "I'm fine."

Augusta looked away from him and towards the red stained carpet. A little bit away from the painting was a pool of blood, probably form the dog. Lestrade turned to Augusta, "I was wondering if you'd take a look at it."

John forced himself to stop thinking about the scarf and turned to them, curious as to why Lestrade was asking Augusta for help when she was merely a photographer. She shrugged, "I guess I could."

John watched as Augusta's knelt down next to the painting. She ran her gloved fingers along the back of the frame, her eyes sharp with attention, "The frame isn't anything special. It's not purely gold; it's not heavy enough so I'd say is merely plated over something. Probably some kind of heavy wood to compensate for the weight."

She motioned for two officers to flip over the painting, revealing a scenic depiction. It was rather lovely, John thought, though not what he would go for. It was a painting of a cityscape on the edge of a body of water. It was very hazy to John. In the background there were white cliffs of some sort.

"I'd have to run some tests of course, to get a better idea," she said as she tilted her head.

John stepped out of an officers' way as he passed, "Tests? For what?"

Augusta rose to her feet and turned to him, "Carbon dating, what kind of medium the artist used, the usual."

John gave a smirk, "And you're going to do that?"

She turned to Lestrade, "You didn't tell him did you?"

Lestrade looked at her confused, "I didn't know I had to, besides you see him more than I do, why didn't you mention it?"

"Mention what?" John asked.

Augusta watched as the painting was covered and carried out into the hall, "I studied art history at university, focus in conservation and restoration."

"Really!" John explained, surprised, "When did you go to university?"

He asked only because she looked so young. Lestrade laughed and walked away, leaving John curious, "What's so funny?"

Augusta brushed her hair away from her face, sighing in annoyance, "Greg always thinks it's so funny when I tell people. I don't see the big deal, so I went to college a little early, so what!"

They made their way towards the elevator, where inside John turned to her, his hands clasped behind his back, "How early?"

She looked over at him, hesitantly, "Promise not to act weird?"

He blinked, confused, "Um, alright."

She watched as the lights on each button flashed, getting lower as they grew closer to the ground floor, "I was sixteen."

His eyebrows flew up, "Really! That's, well that's impressive. So, how old are you exactly?"

She looked at him, somewhat outraged, "Excuse me, you don't ask a woman her age, John!"

He chuckled, following her out of the elevator, "What, you can't be more than twenty."

Stopping just outside the door, Augusta turned to John, saying, "I'm twenty-five but thank you for the compliment."

John followed her out the door, where a squad car waited to take them to Bart's.

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Molly Hooper looked up from the microscope as the door to the lab swung open, revealing DI Lestrade, Dr. Watson and a woman with long curly brown hair. "Oh, hello!"

Lestrade smiled at her, "Hello Molly."

The door opened again, this time two officers carrying a large covered item. They set it down on the lab table and exited the room. Molly walked towards the table, pointing at the cloth covered mystery, "What's this?"

The woman who had come with Lestrade and Dr. Watson pulled the cloth off carefully and tossed it to the floor, "It's a painting, possibly a Foyet."

"Oh. A what?" Molly ask, not knowing what a Foyet was.

The woman turned to her, hand outstretched, "Sorry, I'm Augusta Prince. I'll be examining the painting. Why we're here and not a museum I don't know."

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "Look, everything you need is here. Besides, the body's here so it'll be easier to keep track of the case. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and talk to Mrs. Kingsley's daughter. Let me know what turns up."

Augusta wiggled her fingers above her head, not bothering to look up from the painting, as Lestrade left. John took a seat across the table from where Augusta stood, leaving Molly to feel somewhat of a third wheel, "Uh, need help with anything?"

Augusta looked over at Molly, feeling somewhat rude for ignoring her, "Oh, sorry! Can you see about getting an x-ray down here?"

Molly blinked, "An x-ray?"

"Yes, to see if anything's hidden in the painting," Augusta said, obviously.

John leaned his chin on his hand as he propped himself forward on the table. Molly, a bit clumsily, excused herself to find an x-ray. Augusta looked up and noticed him watching, "What?"

He shook his head, "Nothing."

Augusta looked back down at the painting, pulling a pair of latex gloves from a box nearby, "I'm not dumb you know."

John blinked, "I'm sorry?"

She smirked as she picked up a magnifying glass and began running it over the canvas slowly, "I know you're thinking about Sherlock. It's nothing to hide, John."

He sighed, "It's just, why is this all happening? His scarf shows up in the flat and then disappears, only to reappear at a murder sight. It doesn't make sense, Augusta."

"I know. But we'll figure it out. Starting with this painting," she said, stretching out her hand towards John, "hand me a cotton swap please."

John did as he was asked, watching as she began gathering materials she would need to work. She became focused, blocking out John as he watched her. Soon enough, Molly returned, declaring that she had found an x-ray upstairs that they could use. Molly stood next to John and watched on curiously as Augusta held the magnifying glass close to the painting, walking around it with a keen eye.

"So, how've you been?" she asked John quietly.

He turned his head slightly, "Alright, I suppose."

She rung her hands together, nervously, "I heard what happened. He's...missing."

He nodded, "Yeah, it's all very...strange."

They were interrupted by Augusta, who set the magnifying glass down and leaned on the table, hands on either side of the painting, "It's a fake."

John stood and walked around the lab table to look down at the painting, "Really?"

She nodded, "Yep, it's a hundred percent forgery."

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Please, please REVIEW!

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	7. Chapter Six

A/N: Hi Readers! I am still amazed at your deductions (particularly Mari. You really think about things in the story, don't you? I love it!). I hope you like the ending of the chapter (hehe)

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Chapter Six

Augusta found herself alone in the lab, John having gone to meet Mary for lunch. Molly had been called away to examine Mrs. Kingsley. If anyone were to walk by and peer inside, they would see Augusta whirling around on her stool, bored. She was in the middle of testing the wood under the gold plated frame. Rising to her feet, Augusta approached the painting.

It was familiar to her for some reason. She couldn't put her finger on it but there was something about it that was. What tipped her off that it was fake was that it was a depiction of a Foyet painting but Foyet did not paint in oils. He paintings were all water-based. She could tell that this particular painting was not a Foyet due to its' odor. An oil painting gave off a particular odor that took months to dissipate. When she was leaning close to the painting, she could clearly smell the familiar odor of oil paint. That created a conundrum, though. The painting was dated 1914 but the smell gave it an age of only a few months. However, to satisfy the investigation she was running tests to prove that the painting was done in oil, and just to cover herself she was testing the wood for age as well.

The door opened, causing Augusta to look up. It was a policeman. He wore a cap, covering curled dark hair. He stopped short upon noticing her. Augusta turned to him, "Did Lestrade send you?"

He stared at her, as if studying her before approaching, "Yes, of course."

She turned back to the painting, a grin on her face, "Spying on me, are you?"

The constable came to stand near her, looking down at the forged painting, "He's merely concerned."

She made an "mmm-hmm" sound in her throat, stepping away from the table as a beep came from behind her. The constable looked around, stoically, as Augusta carefully removed the sample from the machine, "What's he up to? Still talking to the daughter?"

It was silence that answered her. Turning around, she saw that the constable had left, the door slowly closing.

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Marie Kingsley sat across DI Lestrade in the interrogation room, wiping her tear-stained face with a tissue Lestrade had given her. Upon seeing the face of her deceased mother lying on a stainless steel slab, she had broken out into tears. She had found her mother. Her mother had had not shown for their weekly breakfast and she had gone to check on her, worried something had happened. She had a bad heart after all.

Marie had found her mother lying face down in her study, a room she had been forbidden from as a child. Lying beside her was Rufus, a twelve year old Bloodhound she had been given from an old family friend. She loved that dog.

"I'm so sorry for your lose, Ms. Kingsley," Lestrade said as he pulled the picture away from her view, placing it in a folder in front of him, "what time did you arrive at your mother's?"

Marie sniffled, "Around ten. We were supposed to have breakfast at nine but she didn't show. I got worried. She has...had a heart condition."

Lestrade nodded, "I see. I want you to know Ms. Kingsley that we are going to do all we can to find out what happened to your mother."

Marie nodded, "Thank you...do you know how she, how she was killed?"

Lestrade offered her another tissue, "We're working on that, Ms. Kingsley."

TOP

Molly Hooper stared down at the pale face of Mrs. Kingsley. She could tell that in her youth, Mrs. Kingsley had been very beautiful but it had faded with age. Her blond hair was lined with gray and she had crow's feet at the corners of her lifeless eyes. Looking down into the woman's open chest cavity, Molly studied her liquid filled lungs. Pulmonary edema.

Molly took note of her heart. Mrs. Kingsley had a history of heart problems, including a heart attack only a year before. When her body had been found, Mrs. Kingsley had no signs of physical injury. She had not been shot, stabbed or beaten. Nor were there any signs of defensive wounds. In fact, the only thing that pointed to murder was the headless dog and the fallen painting.

If Molly had to guess, she would say that Mrs. Kingsley had been frightened by the animal killing intruder and had a heart attack. Her left ventricle was thicker than the right (most likely resulting from high blood pressure).

Molly pulled her hands from the woman's chest and began showing her back up. She had yet to run any blood tests but by what she had seen, she felt that the woman had died as the results of a heart attack.

TOP

Augusta was right. The tests proved it. The painting had been done using oil-based paint and the carbon dating from the tree dated it at about fifty years. Removing her gloves, she tossed them in the trash. Letting out a yawn, Augusta stretched her arms over her head and arched her back. When she heard a pop she groaned.

She sat down on the stool and tapped her foot as she stared at the painting. What was it about it that made her feel as though she should know it? She had an encyclopedia of artistic knowledge (and a few other things) but she couldn't place this.

Closing her eyes, Augusta sat up strait on the stool, her foot ceased its' tapping. Flashes appeared behind her eyelids as she recalled Mrs. Kingsley's study. She walked in the room, John behind her. Lestrade walked towards her, the evidence bag in his hand. The painting on the floor. Three forensic; one dusting the mantle, one picking up the dog's collar (Rufus in elegant font) and one dusting the window. An officer knelt by the fireplace. She ran her fingers over the back of the painting.

Her eyes opened.

Standing, she went to touch the painting but stopped herself to re-glove her hands. She attempted to lift the painting off of the lab table but groaned as she failed. The golden plated frame may not be solid gold but it was still heavy.

"What are you doing?" asked a male voice.

Augusta jumped and steadied the painting she nearly dropped. She released her hold on it and it made a light thud as the painting was reset on the table. Turning, she saw the same constable from earlier who had been sent to check on her. He stood in the doorway, hand on the door handle. She cleared her throat before saying, "Do you have a habit of sneaking up on people constable,"

She peered down at the name etched on his uniform, "Russell?"

He walked past her towards the painting, "This is a Foyet."

Raising an eyebrow, Augusta joined Constable Russell next to the painting, "A forgery of one, but yes it is supposed to be a Foyet."

He turned towards her, "How do you figure that?"

"Simple. Foyet painted in watercolor, this is an oil painting," she said as she attempted to lift the painting once again, "help me lift it off the table."

Russell took hold of the left side while she took the right. Together they lifted it from the table and sat it upright on the floor. She knelt down and said, "Keep it steady please."

She looked at the back of the frame, running her hand over the back carefully. There, near the bottom of the frame was an outline. Faint, barely visible, but still there was an outline, rectangular. She ran her finger over it and when she looked down at the latex, she saw dust. There had been something behind the painting. Something that was still at the penthouse.

Rising to her feet, she looked at Russell, "Where's Lestrade?"

He looked at her, almost curiously, "Why?"

She removed her gloves and grabbed her bag that she had laid down on the other side of the lab table, "I need to go back to the penthouse. There's something missing from the painting."

He folded his hands behind his back, his brow furrowing, "What exactly is missing, Ms. Prince?"

She shouldered her bag and began walking towards the door, Constable Russell following her, "I'm not sure, but there's an outline on the back of the frame; something was being kept behind it."

As she walked out of the lab and down the hall, Constable Russell kept up with her, "Are you coming with me? I was going to go find DI Lestrade."

At the end of the hall, he opened a door for her, "He's in the middle of questioning Ms. Kingsley. I believe I'll suffice as an escort."

She gave him a questionable look, staring into his light blue eyes, "Alright then, let's go."

TOP

John looked down at the crook of his arm where Mary's arm looped through, and couldn't help the flutter of warmth that pooled in his chest. He could smell the strawberry in her hair as she laid her head on his shoulder. His eyes drooped as he took in her smell.

They had just left from eating lunch, though they ended up talking for a good hour and a half before they found themselves walking through Hyde Park. It had always been Mary's favorite place. _Ding._ The sound brought him out of his small bubble of contentment. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his phone. He had a new text.

_Gone to Kingsley penthouse - Gusta_

"Who is it?" asked Mary, lifting her head form John's shoulder.

He pocketed his phone and gave a smile, "It can wait."

She smiled and placed her head back on his shoulder.

TOP

Augusta dropped her phone into her bag and looked across the car at Constable Russell. He was tall, very tall and lanky. Her eyes traveled down his arms to his hands that gripped the steering wheel. They were long and pale like the rest of his complexion. His hat still sat on his head even though they were in a car. He looked over at her briefly before turning back to the road, "What?"

She shook her head, "Nothing."

She looked out the window. Russell looked at the back of her head, arching a brow. He pulled the car into an alley near the penthouse instead of in front to draw less attention. As they grew close, Augusta was relieved that the cameras were gone, leaving them to walk in calmly and unnoticed. Augusta couldn't help but notice how Russell walked. He had a quick gait that she found herself trying to keep up with. He reached the elevator before her and pressed the up button.

Augusta fidgeted beside Russell as they waited for the doors to open. She felt his eyes look down at her. Yes, she knew she had issues with standing still. The doors opened and she stepped inside, pressing the button to the Kingsley penthouse.

They were quickly lifted up to the top floor and entered the crime scene. Augusta found a pair of gloves dangling in front of her face as she stepped off the elevator. Peering up, she took them from Russell's hand and rolled her eyes. She set her bag down on the small table standing next to the elevator before making her way towards Mrs. Kingsley's study.

She opened the door of the study and walked in with haste. Russell walked in behind her and they began searching the room, "What are we looking for?"

Augusta turned to him, "Something small and thin. It was hidden behind the frame so it couldn't be very big."

She approached the fireplace where the painting had hung, pulling an armchair with her to climb upon. Supporting herself by holding on to the mantle, she looked around the top of it. There was nothing there.

She jumped down and peered into the fireplace, "Find anything Russell?"

When he didn't answer, she looked behind her only to find Russell gone. She tilted her head as she walked out into the hall. Down the hall, the door to Mrs. Kingsley's room was open. She quickly walked down the hall and looked inside. Russell was in the room, looking inside Mrs. Kingsley's drawers, "What are you doing?"

He moved away from the drawer and knelt down to his knees to look under the bed, running his hand between the mattress, "I'm turning the sheets. What does it look like I'm doing?"

She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm and entered the bedroom. Augusta approached the vanity on the other side of the room, near the large window and sat down. She smiled at the pictures that lined the corner of the small elegant table. Framed in silver was a picture of a younger Mrs. Kingsley with a small girl (probably Marie Kingsley) and another frame held a picture of Mrs. Kingsley and her late husband. They were much younger and by the looks of it, were students at a university.

She looked away from the pictures and a bottle of perfume caught her attention. What caught her attention was the red beads lying at the bottom of the scented liquid. Lifting up the bottle of perfume Augusta shifted it around, causing the red beads to move. Each red bead had a small black dot, making them resemble ladybugs. Her eyes widened, "Russell!"

The constable, who had been looking in the large walk in closet, came out, "What is it?"

She rushed over to him, holding the bottle of perfume in her hand, "I know what killed Mrs. Kingsley!"

He took the bottle from her hands and looked at it. For a moment, she thought she saw a glimpse of something (excitement?) in his eye, but took the bottle from his hands (not noticing the look of agitation on his face from the act) and began rushing out the door, "I have to get this back to Bart's!"

The sound of a gun's safety going off caused her to stop in her rush. Looking up from the perfume in her hands, Augusta was met with the barrel of a gun.

TOP

"Thanks."

John stepped out of the taxi and began walking across the street towards the penthouse. He had walked Mary home and had decided to meet Augusta at the penthouse, wondering why she had come back. He would have come sooner but he didn't want to leave Mary. As he stepped into the lobby of the building, his phone went off with a _ding_.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he looked down at the text and stopped as he felt the air in his lungs disappear. His eyes widened as he read in disbelief.

_I'm not dead_

_Meet me upstairs_

_SH_

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Thanks for reading, please leave a deduction (aka, review)!

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	8. Chapter Seven

A/N: I am on a roll with this story! I just keep writing! Hope you enjoy the chapter! I always feel inspired when I get reviews! So keep them coming! Maybe a few questions are answered or maybe just more questions arise.

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Chapter Seven

_I'm not dead_

_Meet me upstairs_

_SH_

John stood, unable to move. Emotions ran unstably through him. The sound of a car horn brought him back to reality, making him jump. He had been standing in the middle of the street when he had gotten the text, crossing it to enter the Kingsley penthouse. What the hell was this?

He looked around the lobby as he walked towards the elevator. Only the reception area was occupied by a uniformed receptionist. Waiting for the elevator doors to open, John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The ding of the elevator came and he flew into the small confines, pressing repeatedly on the top button to reach the penthouse.

The doors didn't seem to close fast enough so he pressed the button again, "Hurry up you damn thing!"

He fidgeted in the elevator as it rose to the penthouse, breathing shakily. When the doors reopened he was hesitant, not sure if he was having a mental breakdown and thinking his best friend (who was supposed to be dead) was waiting for him.

Stepping out of the elevator, he was met with the sight of a completely destroyed hallway. Glass was everywhere, the hall table was knocked over and there was large hole in the wall, from a gunshot. He immediately thought of Augusta, who had texted him not two hours ago.

"Augusta!"

He rushed into the study first only to find it empty. He ran down the hall, calling out Augusta's name, "Augusta!"

"In here," came her soft voice. There was a strain of pain in it. It came from the door just to his left. He rushed in, swinging the door open, "Augu-"

He stopped short.

Augusta was sitting on the edge of a large bed, rubbing her side as she winced. Behind her, looking out the window was a man, dressed in a police uniform, his back to them. Looking up, Augusta sighed, "John."

Looking at the man briefly, John turned his attention to Augusta, "Are you alright? What happened?"

She shook her head, sighing shakily, "It was a woman, John. A woman killed Mrs. Kingsley. She came back, came back for something."

He hushed her, "Calm down, Gusta. Alright?"

She closed her eyes and looked down at her lap before nodded, "Yes, thanks to Russell over there."

John turned to the constable, approaching him hesitantly, "Russell is it?"

The man tilted his head in John's direction before letting the curtain slid from his fingers that had held them back, allowing him to look out the window. He reached up and removed the hat from his head, revealing short, curly brown hair. He placed his hands behind his back and slowly turned around, revealing his face. John felt the room suddenly spin.

"Hello John."

John blinked, "Wha..."

Augusta, who sat in silence, watched as John slowly approached Russell. His face contorted in a mixture of disbelief and anger. Before she knew what was happening, John had lurched back and swung at the constable.

"John!" she cried, jumping to her feet, wincing as she grabbed her side.

"You son of a bitch!" cried John, taking hold of Russell's collar, pressing him up against the wall, "All this time! All this bloody time you were alive!"

Augusta wrapped her hand around John's balled up one that was prepared to swing again, "John, stop it!"

He let go of Russell and pressed the back of his hand against his lips, turning away from Russell and Augusta, who turned to Russell, laying a hand on his arm, "Are you alright?"

Russell merely wiped at the blood on his lip and spoke to John, "If you would let me just explain-"

"NO!" screamed John, turning on his heels to face them once again, "You don't just explain, Sherlock! You don't just explain why you've let everyone think you've been dead for six months!"

"Five, actually," Sherlock said, glancing at Augusta before turning to John.

John stared at him, stunned, "Why? Why did you do it?"

Augusta stood back and watched. So this was Sherlock Holmes. He wasn't dead after all. She knew it. She knew from the papers that he couldn't be dead. Her father had taught her how to read in between the lines and that's exactly what she did.

Sherlock stopped in front of John, hands behind his back, "I am sorry, John. I had no choice. Moriarty had you targeted. If I didn't fall, you would have been killed. Along with Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade."

Augusta straitened at hearing Lestrade's name but said nothing as Sherlock continued, "I had to be sure that his men were gone before I could return."

John licked his lips and stared at his best friend, trying to wrap his mind around what he was being told, "You did this...to protect me? To protect Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes," Sherlock said firmly.

Augusta looked between the two men, unsure of how to proceed. She went to move but groaned when the sharp pain in her side returned. John looked over at her, "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, "Don't worry about it."

John looked over at Sherlock once more before walking over to Augusta and sat her down at the vanity, "What happened here, Gus?"

"Gus? That's a new one," she said as he lifted her shirt to see a bruise on her side, "Ru-Sherlock body slammed me."

"WHAT?" he screamed/asked, rising to his feet from where he knelt and turned to Sherlock, "Whatever for?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes before looking at his only friend, "It was that or let her be shot, John."

Augusta calmly stood and approached Sherlock, "Thank you by the way. May I have the perfume back now?"

He looked at her, feigning ignorance, "I'm sorry?"

She held out her hand, "The perfume bottle. I know you put it in your pocket."

He reluctantly pulled out the said perfume bottle and handed it to her, "You have a sharp eye, Ms. Prince."

She grinned, "Of course I do, Mr. Holmes. Though, I'm sure you know all about me. That is, if your reputation precedes you."

He raised an eyebrow, "Of course I do, it's my business to know."

John watched their interaction, not sure if it was flirtation or not, "Uh, for the moment can you keep in mind that not all of us have a massive intellect? Care to share what exactly is going on?"

Augusta felt like smacking herself in the head for ignoring John's concern, "Oh! Sorry John. Well at the lab I noticed that there was an outline on the back of the painting and that whatever it is must still be here. So with Russell, I mean Sherlock, I came back to look for it."

"Did you find anything?" John asked, still concerned for her injury. She was wincing frequently.

She lifted up the perfume bottle, "Nothing to do with the painting but I found this on the vanity."

John blinked, staring at the bottle, "It's perfume."

She rolled her eyes, "Look what's inside it, John!"

She pointed at the small red beads floating at the bottom of the bottle, "Do you have any idea what these are?"

John was at a loss, "Um, little red balls?"

She opened her mouth but Sherlock reached out and took the perfume from her, "Hey!"

He ignored her outcry and began speaking rapidly, "_Abrus precatorius_; also known as the rosary pea or the jequirity. Native to Indonesia. The seeds, as you see floating around, are toxic. They possess the toxin, abrin which to humans is incredibly fatal. It can be ingested, injected or in this case, inhaled. The toxin was absorbed into Mrs. Kingsley's skin, resulting in severe flu like symptoms leading to respiratory distress and organ failure. Mrs. Kingsley was known to have a heart condition, which upon autopsy it would reveal she has pulmonary edema; a sign of left ventricle failure, which coincidently is also a sign of abrin poisoning. It's quite clever really. The murderer, whom we now know is a woman, poisoned Mrs. Kingsley to make it appear she died from a heart attack resulting from the scare of a robbery."

He finished his explanation and handed the perfume back to Augusta, who had an impressed grin on her face, "That's it in a nutshell."

John blinked before breaking into a fit of laughter, "God, I've missed you Sherlock."

Sherlock's lips tightened into a brief grin before it disappeared, "Well, shall we inform Lestrade that I'm not dead? I'm long overdue for a case."

TOP

They made their way back to the flat where John tended to Augusta's side. Luckily, it was merely a bruised rib instead of a cracked one, "So what exactly happened that caused Sherlock to body slam you into a table?"

She winced as he poked her side, "When I realized that it was abrin in the bottle, I ran out of the bedroom and the next thing I knew there was this woman standing in the hall, aiming a gun at me. Sherlock came out of the bedroom and reacted, I suppose. He pushed me into the table sitting in the hall just as she fired. She ran after that."

John rose to his feet and crossed his arms, looking down at her where she sat in the leather chair, "Can you remember what she looked like?"

She looked up at him, "Tall, blond hair, blue eyes. Though she looked...deranged."

He raised a brow, "Deranged? How so?"

Sherlock came out of the kitchen, buttoning his black suit over the purple shirt he wore underneath, "She was talking to herself."

John turned around, "Talking to herself? What was she saying?"

Sherlock made his way to sit but stopped when he saw Augusta was sitting in his chair, "That's my chair."

She looked at him and chuckled, "Oh? I thought Sherlock Holmes was dead."

He bit his cheek as he glared down at her.

He sat in chair opposite her, crossing his legs as his arms lied on the armrests and looked to John, "She was talking about a man, '_He wants it. He'll be mad if I don't find it.'_ Whoever "He" is, he's controlling her. She's more likely to be a schizophrenic, with dependent tendencies. "He" is who we need to find."

"What is it that she's looking for then? You didn't find anything at the penthouse," said John, turning to Augusta.

Sherlock reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope, "Probably this letter I found at the crime scene."

John furrowed his eyebrows, confused, "When were you at the crime scene?"

Augusta's eyes widened, "The officer knelling by the fireplace. I only saw the back of your head."

He titled his head, his eyes moving over her face, "Yes, that's right."

Sherlock pulled the letter from the envelope, "It doesn't appear to be anything of importance, just a mere love letter to someone named Lizzy."

Rising to his feet, he tucked the letter back in the envelope and the envelope into his jacket. He disappeared into the kitchen only to reappear, putting on his long coat.

"Where the hell did you get that?" exclaimed John, pointing at the scarf that Sherlock was tying around his neck.

Augusta blinked, "That stupid purple thing has caused poor John such a fuss!"

Sherlock looked at her with mild annoyance, "It's blue."

TOP

Lestrade walked into the lab with the intent to find out what Augusta had found about the painting. As he took a sip of the coffee he had just made, he looked up. He found himself chocking on the hot liquid at the sight in front of him.

Augusta was twirling on a stool in boredom as John leaned against the table next to her. But that was not what made him react in such a way. Looking into a microscope was Sherlock Holmes.

At the sound of his choking, Sherlock looked up, "Ah, Lestrade! Good news, I'm not dead. Though I'm sure Mycroft has already informed you. You are after all, my handler."

At this, Augusta reached out and stopped herself in mid-twirl and her head snapped in Lestrade's direction, "What?"

Her voice was cold and too calm for John's liking, who looked at her a bit uneasy. She rose from the stool and marched up to him, "You're his what?"

Lestrade reached out to lay a calming hand on her shoulder but she smacked it away, "You knew he was alive this whole time? And you didn't tell me?"

Sherlock removed the slide from under the microscope, "So did you, Ms. Prince."

She turned to face him as John did the same, "What are you talking about?"

He stood and walked towards her with a knowing grin, "You knew I was still alive, or at least, you speculated. When I met you earlier, you're body stiffened and you turned your back to me. You recognized me, yet you acted as though you didn't know me. Then there is the number of newspaper articles pertaining to me in your writing desk. Not to mention your laptop's history has John's blog and my website logged on it."

Augusta crossed her arms defensively, sighing as she looked over at John, "Sorry John, I didn't mean to hurt you by lying but I had to find out the truth."

John resembled a gold fish as his mouth opened and closed, "You knew about Sherlock all this time?"

She nodded, sheepishly so, "I did. Or as least speculated, as Sherlock says. I wasn't sure."

Lestrade set his coffee down on a nearby lab table and crossed his arms, looking at her accusingly, "That's why you moved here, isn't it? You came back to England to find Sherlock so that he would help you with your mother's case. I'm right, aren't I?"

She bit her lip but nodded, "Yes."

Sherlock broke the silence that filled the room by laughing. John looked at him strangely, "What in the hell is so funny, Sherlock?"

He sighed, "Remarkable! Absolutely remarkable, John. Ms. Prince has been able to figure that I faked my death yet she is unable to solve her own mother's murder!"

Augusta frowned and turned around to face him, "I have gone it over and over in my head, Mr. Holmes, as to why my mother was killed. For twenty years, I have tried to figure it out, but I can't. I was five years old. I'm smart but you are brilliant. It doesn't take a genius to read a newspaper and use common sense. What kind of judge dismisses a case involving a man trying to steals the crown jewels? It doesn't make sense!"

She approached Sherlock and looked up at him, nearly pleadingly, "Mr. Holmes, help me please."

Sherlock brought his hands together under his chin, in a prayer-like motion as he peered down at her, his eyes narrowing slightly, "Tell me how she was murdered."

Augusta swallowed and her eyes became watery, "That's the thing Mr. Holmes. No one knows how she died."

"How is that possible?" he asked, still staring at her.

She sighed, "The only thing that was found was blood. Her blood. It was painted on the walls."

He tilted his head ever so slightly before dropping his hands, "Hmm, interesting."

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Leave a review for a new chapter!

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	9. Chapter Eight

A/N: Hi readers! It's been a few days since my last update but I've been busy. I hope you enjoy the latest update. Please keep in mind that the only income I recieve from my stories are reviews, so please pay up! REVIEW!

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Chapter Eight

When Augusta woke the following morning, she did not expect to walk into her living room and see Sherlock sitting in the leather chair, a newspaper open in his hands. She scrunched up her face in confusion and crossed her arms as she leaned against the beam of the walkway between the kitchen and living room. Across from him sat Mycroft (again, to her surprise) who was looking at his brother with distaste, his lips pursed in frustration.

Augusta watched as Mycroft rose, glaring down at Sherlock, "Come now dear brother, surely you wouldn't deny this one request."

Sherlock ignored his brother, lifting the paper higher. Mycroft rolled his eyes and using the tip of his umbrella, pushed the paper down, revealing Sherlock's annoyed glare aimed at his brother. Augusta looked between the brothers; it was as though they were having a conversation with their eyes as they stared at one another. Finally Mycroft lifted his brown as though asking, "so?" and Sherlock rolled his eyes, waving his hand dismissively, "Fine, now go away."

Mycroft, noticing Augusta, nodded his head in greeting, "Good morning, Ms. Prince."

With that, he walked out the open door of her flat, leaving Augusta alone with Sherlock. She turned slowly to face him and was surprised that he had gone back to reading the paper as though she wasn't there. She could feel the aggravation brewing.

Biting her cheek, she walked towards him until she stood in front of where he sat, hands on her hips as she stared down at him. She cleared her throat and waited for him to acknowledge her presence.

She began tapping her foot as he continued to ignore her. Finally she rolled her eyes and yanked the paper out of his hands, folding the paper under her arm. He blinked, hands still in the position of holding the paper before he looked up at her, "Yes?"

She gave a wide, fake smile and said sweetly, "What are you doing here?"

He rose from his chair and ventured into the kitchen, where Augusta finally noticed the state it was in. She had been distracted by Sherlock's mere presence in her flat that she had bypassed the mess her kitchen was in. "What happened in here?"

There were boxes everywhere on the floor; beakers and questionable liquids on the table, and a smell akin to sulfur hit her nose, "Well?"

Sherlock, wearing a navy colored robe over a pair of pajama bottoms and a simple t-shirt, began fixing a cup of coffee, "To answer your first question; I do believe I live here. To your second; it's an experiment."

When Sherlock said that he lived there, her eyes widened, "No, I live here. I have a lease that says so."

Sherlock stirred his coffee, leaning against the counter as he studied her, "Why is it that you seek my help, Ms. Prince?"

Augusta leaned against the table, careful not to disturb the "experiment" behind her. She looked down at her hands as she fiddled with them, "Like I said yesterday, you're brilliant. Probably the most brilliant man I've ever heard of. If anyone can solve this, it's you."

"Was that praise, Ms. Prince?" he asked before taking a sip of his coffee.

She grinned and pushed off the table, "Perhaps."

Augusta approached the refrigerator, almost hesitantly. After all, the last time someone looked in there was a dog's head inside. Opening it, she let out a sigh of relief when there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. She grabbed the carton of eggs, milk, cheese and tomatoes. She set the food on the clear area of the counter before reaching into the freezer to grab the sausage.

She turned to ask Sherlock what he would like for breakfast (since he lived there, apparently) but found he was once again in the living room, this time tuning the familiar violin she had seen in the closet.

Wait.

"Did you come into my room last night while I was sleeping?" she exclaimed as she crossed her arms in the doorway.

He didn't bother to look at her as he said, "Yes."

Blinking, she asked, "Why?"

He let out a sigh before looking at her with agitation, "Are you always so inquisitive?"

She stepped forward, "When men come into my room in the middle of the night without my permission, then yes I am."

Raising the violin to his shoulder, he rested his chin against it as he prepared the bow, "My apologies, Ms. Prince."

She nodded and turned to return to the kitchen but stopped and twirled on her toes back to him, "How would you like your omelet, Mr. Holmes? I have some sausages if you want that instead with some toast, maybe?"

He began playing but said, "I never eat on a case, Ms. Prince."

She rolled her eyes at that, "I'll surprise you then."

She heard the slight skip in the tune he was playing before he started up again as she started up the stove, a grin on her lips.

TOP

John entered the flat, feeling lighter than he had in months. After all, Sherlock was alive (though he still was pretty pissed for staging his death). The smell of sausage hit his nose as he walked in. Sherlock had texted him earlier, _I need my blogger. Come at convenience._

Not a moment later did John get another text_, If inconvenience, come anyway._

He saw Sherlock sitting in his chair, dressed in a suit, hands folded beneath his chin as he stared into the kitchen. John greeted him as he picked up the discarded paper lying on the floor, "Good morning."

Sherlock didn't acknowledge him, instead continued to stare into the kitchen. John set the paper on the piano and turned looked down at his friend before following his gaze. He was watching Augusta fumble around the kitchen, "What are you doing?"

Sherlock blinked and looked up at John, "Oh good, you're here. Tell me, why is it that women are so insistent?"

John stared down at him with confusion, "What?"

Sherlock nodded in Augusta's direction, "She insists that I eat. I told her I don't eat on a case and yet she cooks me breakfast. I won't eat it of course, so tell me John, why are women so insistent? It's not logical."

John folded his arms, "You text me to come over to ask me that? You could have asked me that on the phone!"

"That doesn't answer the question, John," Sherlock said, still staring at Augusta as she set three plates out on the table.

John sighed, "Maybe she's just concerned, polite maybe."

Sherlock unfolded his hands, letting them dangle over the arm rests, "Concerned? Concerned for what? Why would she be concerned if I didn't eat breakfast?"

He looked at John with bewilderment, who shrugged, "I don't know."

Sherlock jumped from the leather chair and grabbed his coat, "Come along John, we've got a deranged murderess to find."

The good doctor watched as Sherlock twirl in a circle, searching for something, "What are you looking for?"

"My scarf, where is it?" Sherlock said, kneeling down to look under the piano he had tossed his coat on.

The clearing of a throat caused John to turn and look, chuckling as he saw Augusta swinging Sherlock's scarf back and forth in her hand. Sherlock turned his head from where he knelt. Rising, he approached with his hand held out, "Thank you, Ms. Prince."

She pulled the scarf back, clutching it to her chest, "Not until you eat."

He frowned, "I've already told you; no."

She turned and walked back into the kitchen, taking his scarf with her, "Fine then."

Sherlock turned his head to give John an annoyed look before facing Augusta, holding his hands behind his back, "You should get dressed, Ms. Prince. We'll be needing you to come along."

Augusta sat at the table, "Not until you eat, Mr. Holmes"

She looked behind at John, flashing a smile, "I've made a plate for you too, John. Come sit down."

John smirked at the look on Sherlock's face; his mouth was gaping and his eyebrows were furrowed. Walking past him, John joined Augusta at the table, "Mmm, this smells delicious Augusta."

"Thank you John," she said, smirking at Sherlock as she picked up her fork, setting Sherlock's scarf next to the plate on her right.

Pursing his lips, Sherlock walked briskly to the table and pulled the chair out sharply, causing it to scrap against the floor. He practically yanked his coat off and hung it on the back of the chair before he sat down stiffly.

John hid his grin by taking a sit of the coffee Augusta had made for him as Sherlock and Augusta stared at one another. Augusta leaned forward on the table, "Your eggs are getting cold, Mr. Holmes."

TOP

Augusta followed Sherlock and John into Mrs. Kingsley's penthouse, easing back to watch Sherlock as he began to scour the room. She ventured down the hall and into the bedroom where she found herself sitting down at the vanity like she had done the previous day. She began to fiddle with the various objects lying on the glass table; perfumes, some jewelry.

As she did this, Sherlock was ranting to John about Augusta's earlier behavior in another room, "It's absurd, John. Why on earth would she care if I eat or not?"

John replaced the book on the table, "You're still going on about that? Look, if you're so hung up about it just ask her, Sherlock. It's not hard."

Sherlock exited the room and made his way into the bedroom. Augusta sat at the vanity, holding a string of pearls in her hands.

Augusta, deep in thought did not notice his approach. He stood behind her, looking down at the framed photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley in their younger days. He stared at it and furrowed his brow.

A gloved hand shot out in front of her and grabbed the framed picture sitting on the table. She leaned backwards as Sherlock invaded her space, "Can I help you?"

He turned the frame around and yanked the back off, "There's a crease in the photograph."

"What?" she asked, rising to look down at the photo in his hands.

Sherlock unfurled the photograph to reveal a third person standing on the other side of Mrs. Kingsley. It was a young woman, even younger than Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley. She had long, strait brown hair with wide brown eyes. She was smiling at the camera. Now that the photo was complete, Augusta could see the building behind them fully. It was Peterhouse at Cambridge.

She tore the photo from Sherlock's hands and stared at the woman in the picture. She knew her. It was her mother, Sarah. She covered her mouth with her hand and sat on the corner of the bed. John approached her and knelt down, placing a hand on her knee, "Gus? What is it?"

She looked at him, her eyes filled with confusion, "This is my mother."

She gave him the photo and pointed at her mother's young face, "See? I know it is!"

The sound of an excited laugh caused both John and Augusta to look up to see Sherlock with a look of excitement on his face, "Oh this is marvelous!"

John and Augusta shared a look before turning back to the ecstatic consulting detective, "What is?"

Augusta rose from the bed as she asked this, clutching the photo in her hand. Sherlock looked between her and John, "Don't you see?"

They both stared at him blankly. He rolled his eyes and stared at them with wonder, "It must be so easy with your tiny little minds; how boring."

Augusta crossed her arms, "Don't be snide, Mr. Holmes! I understand that you revel in solving crimes, but keep in mind that some of us don't have you giant brain!"

He cocked his head, "I'm curious, Ms. Prince."

She looked down at the photo, "About what?"

He stepped towards her, "You're smart. You can see the little details that no one else can see yet you let something as trivial as emotion blind you. Had you not been distracted by your emotions you would have seen the connection."

Augusta, growing angry, said, "And you know all about emotion, do you Mr. Holmes?"

He looked down at her; they had gravitated towards one another and now stood toe to toe, " I know enough, Ms. Prince."

He held out his hand for the photo. She placed it in his hand and sat back down on the bed, "Then share with the class, Mr. Holmes. What connection?"

Sherlock held out the photo for her and John to see, "This photograph was taken while she was pregnant; you can see the roundness of her stomach. Not only did your mother know Mrs. Kingsley, but she knew about you, Ms. Prince. This murder isn't connected to your mother, it's connected to you. You are the connection. You tie your mother's murder to Mrs. Kingsley. But why? What is it about you that ties them together?"

Augusta blinked.

She said nothing as she rose and adjusted her dress, "Well then, I guess we're going to Cambridge."

John looked at her, "What? Why?"

She turned towards him, "The picture was taken at Peterhouse at Cambridge John. The next logical step would be to go where the photo was taken."

Sherlock walked past them but held out the photo to Augusta, who took it and followed, leaving John behind, "Wait, what about the deranged murderess!"

When he reached the elevator where they were waiting, Sherlock said, "Don't worry John, I'm sure we'll run into her."

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Thanks for reading, please leave a review

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	10. Chapter Nine

A/N: Hi readers! I just wanted to thank those who have reviewed so far. It really makes me feel good when I hear your thoughts on what I write. A new character is intruded at the end of the chapter named Bertram. Please check out his picture on my profile page. Thanks and happy reading! REVIEW!

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Chapter Nine

Augusta sat in the middle of her bed, staring down at the carefully wrapped parcel. Lestrade had sent over a constable with the package, who had been waiting for her when she, Sherlock and John had returned from Mrs. Kingsley's penthouse in order to pack for their trip to Cambridge. She had stared at it, too afraid to take it. Sherlock had helped her with that by taking it from the constable without so much as a thank you, mumbling, "finally" under his breath.

When she snapped out of her feelings of dread of seeing photos of her mother's dead body, she ran after him and snatched it out of his hands and ran into her room, locking it behind her.

Now here she sat. Staring down at the wrapped parcel containing the details of her mother's murder. The sound of her phone jingling broke her one-sided staring contest. She took her time as she reached for her bag and pulled out her phone. She had a text.

_Why haven't you called? -Q.B._

Augusta groaned and fell back against her pillows, staring down at the text. She hated it when she called.

Her phone "ding"ed again.

_I'm still mad you know. You should have told me you were going to London. - Q.B._

Sighing, Augusta reluctantly began to text back, _I thought I'd surprise you. Surprise._

As she hit the send button, she could hear a faint sound of metal being scratched. Furrowing her brow, she turned her head toward the door. Her eyes widened. Oh the nerve!

Jumping to her feet, Augusta unlocked the door and pulled it open. Knelling on the other side was Sherlock, holding a pair of lock picks in his hands. She crossed her arms, "Yes, Mr. Holmes?"

He slowly rose to his feet and adjusted his suit, "Ms. Prince."

She saw him eying the parcel and placed her arm across the doorway, preventing entry, "You can have it as soon as I'm done, Mr. Holmes."

Her phone "ding"ed, allowing Sherlock the opportunity to brush past her by her distraction. He grabbed the parcel and her phone, which upon inspection was locked by code, which of course Sherlock was easily able to unlock, "Who is Q.B.?"

She looked at him in shock and awe, "How in the world were you able to unlock it?"

He grinned, "Your fingerprints leave behind traces over the number screen. I merely chose the right combination."

Augusta let out an airy, dry laugh, "Right. Can I have my phone back now?"

He raised his arm up, out of her reach and began texting. Augusta jumped up in an attempt to stop him, grabbing at his arm, "Stop! What are you doing?"

Sherlock hit send and handed back her phone, "Merely informing your friend that you'll be unavailable for lunch this weekend."

Augusta, hands on hips, marched after him into the kitchen where John was making tea, "How dare you!"

Without looking up, John asked, "What have you done now, Sherlock?"

Glaring at him, she said, "He invaded my privacy!"

Sherlock sat down in his chair, "What does Q.B. stand for, Ms. Prince?"

Tapping her foot, she sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, "Queen Bitch."

John, entering the living room with the tray of tea, eyed her strangely, "Excuse me?"

She waved her hand dismissively, "My aunt."

Sitting down, John asked, somewhat concerned, with a chuckle, "Why do you call your aunt Queen Bitch?"

She sat down on the piano bench, hands folded between her legs, "Because she_ is_ a bitch."

The sound of paper ripping caused her to sit up stiffly and turn her head towards Sherlock. He tossed the parcel paper to the floor and began shifting through the first of three files. She rose and approached him, "Mr. Holmes, please let me look first before you go through them."

He opened his mouth to argue but John set his cup on the saucer he held, saying simply, "Sherlock," in a warning tone.

Sherlock huffed but handed the files over, "Very well, Ms. Prince. I'll go search for a suitcase in the mess you made in _my_ closet."

He rose with a sour expression on his face and crossed the room, disappeared down the hall. Augusta took occupancy in the chair Sherlock had just vacated and held the files in her lap, staring at them.

Taking a breath, she opened the first file.

TOP

"I-I'm sorry sir. I-I di-did my b-best!"

A wail escaped her lips as she felt the all too familiar stinging pain of the whip as it lashed across her back. She felt her master reach for her hair and pulled her back. She could smell the cologne she had always loved as he whispered against her ear, "I told you to get me that letter. You failed me, Victoria."

Her lips trembled. She hated disappointed him.

"Forgive me, master," she pleaded as she turned her head towards him to stare into his beautiful black eyes.

She whimpered as he yanked her head back. He kissed her neck, tasting the blood that he had caused to run, "Tell me Victoria, why I have to punish you."

His voice was smooth and deep, full of cold confidence as he demanded her to answer. She felt the cool, sharp metal of his favorite knife against her jugular, "Because I've been bad, sir. I deserve to be punished."

He kissed her temple, "That's right, you've been very very bad."

She was pushed forward harshly, hitting her cheek on the concrete floor beneath her. She heard him drop the whip and walk further and further away, "Go clean yourself up, Victoria. You have work to do."

She pushed herself up, feeling joy that her master still trusted her, "Thank you master. I won't disappoint you again."

He chuckled, "You better not Victoria. You best hope not."

TOP

Augusta sat on the floor of the bathroom, her head resting on her knees. As soon as she had seen the image of her mother lying in the living room floor of her childhood home, covered in blood, she had fled to the bathroom.

A knock came to the door, "Yes?"

John's muffled voice came from the other side, "Are you alright, Augusta?"

She wiped at her tear-stained cheeks, "I'm fine, John. I'll be out in a minute. Why don't you go call Mary and let her know you'll be out of town. I'm sure she'll worry if you don't."

It was silent before John finally answered, "...Alright. Tell Sherlock I'll meet you two at the train station."

She pushed herself up and turned on the faucet, "Will do!"

When she heard the door to the flat close, only then did she walk out of the bathroom. She saw no sign of Sherlock as she ventured back into the living room to continue looking through the files. As she sat down and looked back at the image of her mother, she swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled the picture from the file. She found herself staring at it, unable to look away.

Her mother had always been beautiful. She had been so full of life and had a smile on her face all the time. She could remember her mother singing her to sleep or playing games. She always let her play on her piano. A tear drop landed on the picture of her mother's body. Augusta wiped it away quickly but was too late as Sherlock had walked into the room just as she had pulled the picture from the file.

He watched as she had stared at the picture. She had ran her hand over the image before he saw the tear escape. She covered her mouth with her free hand and tried to keep the cry from escaping. Another tear ran down her cheek. Sherlock shifted his weight.

He was not good at dealing with emotions, that's why he chose not to deal with them at all. He was logical not emotional. So when the slip of a woman sitting in his chair began to cry, he grew uncomfortable. Sherlock approached her and unintentionally surprised her by taking the picture from her hand.

She looked up and tried to remove all evidence of her tears by wiping at her face, "Oh, Mr. Holmes I didn't see you there."

He stared down at the picture. It was Sarah Prince, wearing blood-soaked clothes. She had been stabbed multiple times. He looked away from the photo and down at Augusta, "You should have allowed me to go through the case file first, Ms. Prince."

He took the files from her and disappeared down the hall, leaving Augusta alone in the living room. She stared after him, blinked, and then stood on shaky feet. She had to pack.

TOP

John nuzzled his face in the crook of Mary's neck, "I'll be back by the end of the week."

She groaned and pouted, causing John to chuckle as he watched her lips push out in a pout. He leaned forward and kissed her lips, which turned up in a smile as he did. She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. His own arms ventured around her waist and played with the bit of skin poking out. So focused on Mary, John didn't notice Sherlock and Augusta walking towards them.

As they walked towards them, Sherlock grimaced at the display, "Look at them. They're like a couple of hormone driven teenagers."

Augusta looked up at him as they walked closer, "I think they're cute. Look at how much in love they are!"

Sherlock scoffed, "Love? Love is nothing more than a chemical reaction in the brain, Ms. Prince. A terrible thing; love. All it ever does is cause problems."

"So you've never been in love, Mr. Holmes?" she asked innocently.

He looked down at her, "No. Have you?"

He asked, not expecting to hear, "Yes, I have. And it's not a terrible thing, Mr. Holmes. Love is a very beautiful, very powerful thing."

"Then where is said lover, Ms. Prince?" he asked sardonically

She stopped short and Sherlock watched her curiously. Her face fell and she gave a sad smile, "Some things happened and we decided it was best to go our separate ways. On good terms, of course."

Augusta began walking again, a bit quicker to get to John and Mary who still were snogging in the train terminal.

"John!" she called.

John and Mary broke away from one another and turned to see Augusta walking at a quick pace towards them, dragging a suitcase behind her. Sherlock came up behind her and began analyzing Mary, whom he had never met until now.

Augusta nudged him in the chest, breaking his concentration. Sherlock looked down at her sharply. How dare she!

She merely smiled before turning to Mary, "Hello again!"

Mary smiled and shook Augusta's hand, "Hi, Augusta was it?"

Augusta nodded, "That's me. Sorry to tear John away, Mary."

Mary smiled sadly, rubbing John's arm affectionately, "That's alright. I think I can manage a week without him. I'll just focus on the screaming children I see every day."

Augusta laughed, seeing Sherlock roll his eyes out of the corner of his eye, muttering "not another boring teacher."

She looked at him pointedly before turning back to Mary, "I'll make sure he calls you."

Mary looked up at John, "He'd better."

John pecked her on the lips once more before picking up his suitcase, "Right, we better board. I'll see you when I get back."

She kissed his cheek and stepped back as they began to board. Augusta smiled and waved, stepping on to the train behind John, Sherlock bringing up the rear. They made their way through the train until they reached their assigned seats. It was a private box (John's idea apparently. He told Augusta he wanted the trip free of any misshapes caused by Sherlock's mouth with other passengers.)

She attempted to load her suitcase in the overhead rack but failed miserably. Sherlock simply took it from her hands and easily laid it on the rack before sitting and stared out the window. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

He merely made a noise in his throat, "Mmm," in acknowledgment.

She sat down across from him and John just as her phone went off. Both men looked at her as she answered, "Hello?"

"AUGUSTA MARIE PRINCE!"

Augusta pulled her phone away from her ear. Oh dear lord. Not him!

"Hello Bertram!" she said with a forced happiness in her voice.

"Why in all of God's green earth did you not think it was important to inform me that you were back in England?" he exclaimed. She could hear him ruffling through papers. Essays no doubt.

Sherlock and John continued to watch her much to her annoyance, "Well you see Bertram, I was wanting to surprise-wait. Who told you I was back?"

A dry chuckle was her answer, "Do you really have to ask, my dear?"

She gasped and growled, "Ingrid!"

"Right you are," he said, "Your aunt can be quite the gossip when she wants to be."

Augusta cursed her father's sister, "That heifer!"

Sherlock grinned while John raised a confused brow. On the phone, Bertram said, "When can I expect to see you, Augusta?"

He said it in a manner which had no room for debate. Augusta suddenly sat up strait, "Oh! Didn't Ingrid tell you? I'm on my way to Cambridge now!"

"Really? Well then I shall await your arrival with great anticipation, my dear," he said with excitement.

She did love visiting Bertram.

"Me too, Bertram. Love you."

"And I you, little rabbit," he said affectionately before hanging up.

She tossed her phone in her bag and looked out the window as the train lurched into motion. John asked, "Who's Bertram?"

"And why are we visiting him in Cambridge?" Sherlock added.

Sighing, she turned to the two men across from her, "Bertram is my grandfather. He's a professor of literature at the university."

"Really!" John exclaimed, impressed.

"Yes. My aunt squealed to him about me going to Cambridge, thanks to someone," she said, looking at Sherlock pointedly, "texting her. Now he's expecting me to visit him."

Looking back out the window, Augusta could only hope that her aunt was not present during her visit. But knowing her luck, the probability was not in her favor.

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Thanks for reading, leave your thoughts in a review!

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	11. Chapter Ten

A/N: Hi guys! Sorry I haven't updated in a few days but I'm in the middle of getting ready to move so I haven't had that much time between that and work. I'm also getting ready to return to school (yay!) so that adds to the madness! I know this is short but I wanted to give you something because it might be a week or so before another update. I felt bad that I haven't been keeping up since I usually update fairy regularly. So please enjoy what little I have written and please please please leave a review. I feel like nobody reads it even though I know you do. Please make my day and review!

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Chapter Ten

They arrived at Cambridge just after dusk. Augusta had fallen asleep during the ride, lulled to sleep by the motion of the train. She had been shaken by John once they arrived, Sherlock holding her suitcase. She went to grab it from him but he walked out the cabin before she could. She followed him out, John bringing up the rear.

"I can carry my own suitcase, Mr. Holmes," she said as they walked down the platform.

Sherlock did not release his hold on her case, "I've got it, Ms. Prince. Now, where exactly is it that your grandfather lives?"

She sighed, not feeling like arguing with him over the suitcase, "He has a house in the country, just outside the city. If I'm right, he's already sent Timothy with the car."

"Car?" John asked as they exited the train station.

Augusta smiled and raised her hand in the air with an excited wave. Sherlock noticed that her smile was genuinely happy, her white teeth showing as she laughed softly. He followed her gaze and saw an elderly man approaching. He wore a uniform, topped off with a cap on his graying hair. He stopped in front of Augusta and was engulfed in a hug by the small woman, "Timothy!"

The man, Timothy returned the hug and patted her shoulder, "Hello Miss Augusta. It's been far too long."

He turned to Sherlock, "May I take the bags, sir?"

Augusta rolled her eyes and forced Timothy's open arm down, "He can put the bags in the car, Tim."

The chauffeur turned back to Augusta, "It's my job, Miss Augusta."

Sherlock began walking towards the car's trunk, "She's right, Timothy. It's quite alright."

Timothy stuttered a bit, "Well, i-if you insist."

"I do," Sherlock said as he set the bags in the trunk and opened the back passenger seat door, motioning for Augusta to get in, "Ladies first, Ms. Prince."

Augusta raised her brow. Why was he being polite? First he carried her bags and now he was opening doors for her. What was going on?

John set his own bag in the trunk and shut it before making his way to the other side of the car. He too looked at Sherlock strangely before getting inside. She smiled up at him thankfully, further surprised when he helped her in by the hand before sliding in after her.

She saw Timothy raise a fluffy eyebrow in question, motioning towards Sherlock with his eyes through the rear-view mirror. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, seeing the smirk forming on the old man's face.

"Home, Timothy," she said in a mock posh voice, earning a chuckle from John and an invisible smirk from Sherlock.

"Right away, Miss Augusta," Timothy said as he started the car.

TOP

"Dear lord, that is not a house," John exclaimed as Timothy pulled the Rolls Royce to the front of Bertram Prince's country home. John was indeed correct. Northwick Hall was two stories high with more than seven bedrooms and three bathrooms. The property seemed to roll on forever, disappearing into the small patch of forest in the distance. It had been in her grandfather's family since his great grandfather, Percival Prince. The Prince family seemed to have been blessed (or cursed) with nothing but male children until Augusta that is. She had been the first female Prince in ages, according to Bertram.

Sherlock stepped out of the car and held out his hand for Augusta to take, which she did (though still curious at his behavior) and slid out of the car. Timothy opened John's door for him, at which he seemed unaccustomed to. He nodded his head in gratitude, "Uh, thanks Timothy."

Timothy nodded and began removing their luggage from the car. Augusta flew to his side and began pulling suitcases out, "Timothy, I told you we could get them."

The chauffeur slapped her hands away, "If you so much as touch that case again, I shall report it to your grandfather. You don't want that, do you Miss Augusta?"

She huffed, "Fine! But I'm only trying to help Tim. You don't have to threaten with such drastic measures."

He patted her shoulder gently, "I know Miss Augusta, but it's my job so buzz off!"

She gapped at him and gave a mock scoff, "Fine then!"

She turned around and a wide smile emerged on her face at the sight of her grandfather walking out of Northwick Hall. He walked casually in his usual tweed jacket. His white hair was kept neat and proper, and he walked in his usual calm gait with his hands stuffed in his pockets as he approached. She met him halfway, arms outstretched, "Grandpa!"

He chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her and swayed slightly from the impact, "Easy does it, darling. Now,"

He pushed her back and took her hands in his as he examined her, "let's have a look at you."

She allowed him to look her over, looking back at John and Sherlock who stood by the car. John was looking over the grounds and Sherlock was watching her. She raised her eyebrows, surprised at his gaze. She gave him a look that said, "What?" before turning back to face her grandfather, "Well, what's the verdict?"

He let go on her hands and crossed his arms, "You're thinner than the last I saw you."

She scoffed, "Really, is that all?"

"Well, you don't look like a blueberry anymore," he said turning to John and Sherlock. He approached them, dragging Augusta with him by the hand, "Can you believe that she actually colored her hair blue? What a ghastly color. Thank the gods for her coming to her senses!"

Sherlock tilted his head as if trying to picture Augusta with blue hair, a smirk forming on his face, "I'm sure she looks lovely no matter what color her hair is, Mr. Prince."

Augusta stopped in her tracks. Okay what was going on here?

John seemed to be thinking the same think because he did a double take, his face quirking into a befuddled expression. Bertram chuckled, "Of course she would. But flattering her won't make me like you, Mr. Holmes. Now who the bloody hell do you think you are dragged my granddaughter into your schemes?"

Sherlock blinked, appearing surprised that the professor knew who he was. After all, he hadn't identified himself to Augusta's aunt when he text her, nor did Augusta tell him on the phone during the train ride. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

Augusta's hand was released and she watched as her grandfather approached Sherlock, a frown on his face, "No, Mr. Holmes, we haven't. But I read the paper and I've seen your face. And judging by my granddaughter's wonderful imitation of a goldfish, I can assume that your use of flattery towards her is an attempt to win my good graces."

Sherlock folded his hands behind his back, "Has it worked?"

Bertram chuckled, "Of course not, Mr. Holmes. But good try."

Turning on his heels, Bertram smiled adoringly at Augusta and wrapped his arms around her shoulder as he guided her towards the house, "Now tell me, rabbit, how was your trip?"

She stared back at Sherlock and glared. She knew there were ulterior motives! Trying to win her grandfather's good graces? Ha!

Wait.

Why on earth would he want to do that? She turned back to her grandfather, "Oh it was alright. Fell asleep though."

TOP

Augusta was unpacking in her old room when Sherlock walked in, wearing only a white dress shirt and black slacks, "I'm sorry."

She jumped slightly and turned to face him from where she stood in front of the dresser, "Excuse me?"

He approached her, "About earlier, back at the flat. I was a bit...insensitive, I suppose."

She leaned against the dresser, "What are you talking about?"

"The case files, Ms. Prince. According to John, I owe you an apology for being too brash. About your mother," he said.

Augusta swallowed and turned to finish filling the dresser with her clothes. She could hear him turn to leave when she spoke, "Their not trivial, Mr. Holmes."

She turned back to see him looking at her curiously, "What's not trivial?"

"Emotions," she said, approached him carefully, "They can tell you a lot about a person; what they're feeling, what they're thinking. It's my emotions, Mr. Holmes, that make me want to find my mother's killer. I loved her. She didn't deserve what happened to her. To you, this is just another case to solve, another puzzle. But not to me. But go ahead and play your game. It doesn't matter because as long as you solve this, I don't care how you see it."

Augusta motioned towards the door, "If that's all Mr. Holmes, I'd like to get some sleep."

Sherlock looked uncertain. His blue-green eyes flickered with something before he turned and sharply walked out the door, closing the door behind him, "Good night Ms. Prince."

"Good night Mr. Holmes," she said as she continued to unpack her suitcase, her voice shaking.

This caused Sherlock to stop in his motion of closing the door as he heard her voice crack. Her shoulders shuddered and he could hear her sniffling. Her hand rushed to her face and he could tell that she was wiping away a tear. Looking away, Sherlock closed the door softly and stood outside her door, staring at it. He stayed there for a moment, thoughts running through his head.

He had never questioned his methods before and he wasn't about to start now. Straitening his back, Sherlock turned and made his way back towards John, where he had left him in the parlor.

TOP

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Thanks for reading, please leave a review

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	12. Chapter Eleven

A/N: To my readers, first of all, I am sorry that I haven't been able to keep up with "Theories" as much as I would like to, but with school and student teaching, this takes the back burner. I am going to tryt and keep up with it as best I can and as a result, the chapters probably aren't going to be as long as they have been (such as this one) but I will continue to work on the story as best I can. I hope you can understand and please continue to enjoy the story as it progresses.

In this chapter, not much progresses in terms of the mystery but it continues where the last chapter left off with tension mounting between Sherlock and Augusta. Enjoy!

Please remember that I do enjoy feedback, so REVIEW!

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Chapter Eleven

The following morning, Augusta woke to the sun hitting her face, causing her to cringe and roll away from the blinding light. As she lay there, a knock came to her door. She mumbled into the mattress, telling whoever was there to go away. However, the door opened and her grandfather strolled in, "Wake up rabbit, you've had enough sleep."

Augusta ignored her grandfather and pulled a pillow over her head.

Bertram stood at the foot of the queen sized canopy bed and stared down at his lazy granddaughter. He looked down at his watch, rolling his green tweed sweater in the process, to see it was near eleven. Sighing, he leaned over and took hold of the comforter and yanked it away from Augusta's form.

Augusta's legs shot up towards her chest into the fetal position as the cool air hit her bare legs. She shouldn't have worn shorts to bed, "Bertram!"

He chuckled and pocketed his hands in his khakis, "Must you call me that?"

Tossing her pillow to the side, she glared at him, "What am I suppose to call you then?"

He smirked, "Grandpa would be nice."

She rolled her eyes and dropped her head back on to the mattress, "Fine, _Grandpa_."

He walked around the bed and sat down next to her, patting her hand that he took hold of, "I know this place brings back memories for you darling; bad ones...but also good ones, yes?"

Augusta sighed but nodded her head. She nudged his knee with her head and offered a half-hearted smile, "Okay, you're right. Now what's for brunch?"

He smirked down at her, "Why don't you come downstairs and find out? That Sherlock fellow is a strange one, isn't he? He insists on going to the school today."

Augusta frowned and forced herself to sit up, fumbling with her hair that resembled a rat's nest, "What for? It's Sunday!"

Bertram chuckled at his granddaughter as she rolled her eyes and curled her lip. Patting her knee, he rose and walked towards the door, "Try and make yourself decent, rabbit. I may not like the man, but Mr. Holmes is our guest after all. Along with the short one. Don't keep them waiting."

He left her alone in her room, which allowed her to fall back on the bed and let out a groan.

She had not meant to let her emotions get the best of her the night before but she couldn't help it. He was such an asshole, though! She had wanted nothing more than to break into tears and cry for her mother but she didn't want to let Sherlock think she was unable to handle the situation. Though, knowing him, he probably already formed an opinion about her.

She was still curious as to why Sherlock had attempted to gain some leverage with her grandfather by being kind and dare she say...flirtatious? According to John, Sherlock liked to experiment with people. Perhaps that was what he was doing.

Ack! Why was she thinking about him?!

Forcing herself out of bed, Augusta grabbed her lavender-colored silk robe and tied it harshly. She didn't bother to fix her hair, too frustrated with the emotionally-inept detective. She stormed out of her bedroom and made her way down the large staircase, following the aroma of pancakes. She smiled. Bertram remembered her love of pancakes.

She entered the dining room to see her grandfather sitting at the head of the long table, an empty seat reserved for her on his right. She stopped when she noticed that there was no sign of Sherlock or John, "What was that about me keeping our guests waiting?"

Bertram merely lifted his cup of coffee to his lips and sipped. She walked towards the table, hands on her hips as she rolled her eyes at the back of her grandfather's head. She took her seat next to him and smiled softly as Timothy placed a plate full of pancakes before her, "Thank you Timothy."

"Of course Miss Augusta. How could I forget?" the chauffeur/butler said as he placed a glass goblet full of orange juice next to her plate.

Just as she picked up her fork, the sound of rapid footsteps came just outside. She knew that quick gait anywhere. She picked up her knife and began cutting into her pancakes.

Sherlock entered the dining room, adjusting the cuffs of his deep blue shirt. Groomed, dressed, and ready to leave, Sherlock stopped short at the sight of Augusta still in her robe, hair in disarray. John soon followed, holding his coat under his arm. Upon seeing Augusta, he smiled and ventured towards the table where Timothy was laying out the rest of the food. He sat down and rubbed his hands together in anticipation, "This looks wonderful!"

Augusta returned his smile just after taking a bite of the warm, fluffed pancakes. Bertram began filling his cup with more coffee; he had a strong addiction to caffeine apparently.

Sherlock huffed at the sight before him. He had informed Dr. Prince that he needed to go to the university as soon as possible and here they were; eating. He approached the table, placing his hands behind his back, "Dr. Prince, have you not mentioned my request to Miss Prince?"

Augusta took a sip from her glass, cradling it in her hands as she leaned on her elbows on the table, "Oh he did, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock turned his gaze to her, "Then why have you not dressed?"

She grinned, "Because I'm eating."

He rolled his eyes, mumbled under his breath, "For gods sake..."

He approached the table and said, "In the brief period of time that we've been acquainted, Miss Prince, it seems all you do is eat."

Augusta's mouth dropped and she shot to her feet, supporting her hands on the table, "And what is that suppose to mean, Mr. Holmes?!"

John lifted his glass to his lips, stage whispering to Sherlock, "Don't answer that."

Sherlock ignored him, "It means, Miss Prince, that perhaps you should be using your mouth to persuade me to continue this case, instead of filling it with food!"

John mumbled, "Shouldn't have said that."

Augusta glared at him, her eyes forming into slits of rage, "If you feel that way then maybe you should leave, you pompous ass!"

She sat back down and picked up her fork, shoving a large piece of pancake into her mouth dramatically. Sherlock growled and sat down at the table next to John, across from her. Still glaring, he sat rod stiff in his chair, all the while studying her. She merely gave a sarcastic smile, "Your food's getting cold, Mr. Holmes."

He looked down at his plate, "As I've said before-"

She waved her fork in the air before her, interrupting him, "Yeah yeah, you don't eat while on a case! I heard you the first time. Timothy worked hard to make this food for us, and as a gentleman, you are going to eat it!."

Bertram's gaze resembled that of watching a tennis match; darting back and forth between the consulting detective and his granddaughter. He could feel the tension filling the room quickly, "All right you two, that is quite enough. Let's enjoy the remainder of our meal in silence, shall we?"

John raised his glass, "I agree Dr. Prince, whole-heartedly."

Sherlock spared his blogger a mere glance before turning back to Augusta. Timothy leaned in towards Sherlock, whispering, "You'll learn Mr. Holmes, that Miss Augusta is a very stubborn woman."

Sherlock took hold of his cup of tea, "Stubborn, Timothy, is not the word I would use."

Timothy merely chuckled, "Of course, sir."

TOP

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Thanks for reading!

Remember to leave any theories of your own in a review

SO REVIEW ALREADY! :))

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	13. Theories of Probability Playlist

Hey Guys!

I compiled this playlist for "Theories" and hope you enjoy it! You probably could find these songs on youtube pretty easily. Enjoy! Leave any comments. Better yet, leave a recommendation for a song for any characters.

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Be Still – The Killers

Shelter – Birdy

Kiss Me – Ed Sheeran

Daddy (feat. Naughty Boy) – Emeli Sande

Seven Devils – Florence + The Machine

Save Me – Gotye

Tiptoe – Imagine Dragons

Between Sheets – Imogen Heap

Come Into My Head – Kimbra

Madness – Muse

My Body is a Cage – Peter Gabriel

Flowers for a Ghost – Thriving Ivory

Shivers – Kal Lavelle

Love is Blind – Annie Lennox

A Perfect Place – The Raveonettes

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LEAVE ME SOMETHING!

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	14. Chapter Twelve

A/N: Hello readers! Dante back with a short update. I know the chapters are extremely short but hopefully with thanksgiving break comig up, I'll be able to improve that. In the meantime, these will have to do. Please remember that I enjoy reviews as they help me keep writing (they make me smile!) and inspired. REVIEW!

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Chapter Twelve

Augusta wiped the corner of her mouth as she finished eating. Sherlock, John, and Bertram had ventured off, leaving her alone. She rose from the table and picked up her plate to take to the kitchen where Timothy was cleaning, "Need any help?" she asked.

Timothy turned his head, "No, Miss Augusta but thank you."

She laid her plate in the sink and began making her way towards the stairs to ready herself for the day when her grandfather stepped into view, followed by her two companions, "Ah, there you are dear. I was just telling the detective about Will. You remember Will Collinsworth don't you?"

Her eyes bulged and her hand shot up to her messy hair, clutching her robe with the other, "What!? Why!?"

Sherlock raised a brow, "Why so flustered, Miss Prince?"

She shot him an annoyed look, "None of your business! Now, grandpa, why would you be mentioning Will Collinsworth?"

Bertram, with a knowing smile, said, "Well I wont be able to escort you lot to the university today, so Will has kindly stepped in for me."

She cocked her head, "What could you possibly have to do on a Sunday?"

He crossed his arms, "Perhaps I would like to attend the afternoon service, Augusta."

She copied his pose, "Since when do you go to church?"

He cleared his throat, "Since I've found the good lord above, my dear."

She rolled her eyes, "Of course you did grandpa. Then I suppose I should get ready then."

Just then the doorbell rang, causing her to stop mid-step and turn harshly on her heels towards the door. Timothy came from the kitchen and walked briskly to the door. She watched in horror as Timothy opened the door and revealed the smiling face of William Collinsworth. He hadn't changed much in the last ten years. His black hair was less shaggier but still had a wave to it. The slight beard that he had sported once was now gone, making him look younger. His eyes though, his eyes hadn't changed. They still held that cheerful gleam inside the green flecks that had charmed her so long ago.

And there she was looking horrid. She gasped and turned to flee up the stairs when she was stopped by a voice,

"Gussy!"

TOP

When Will Collinsworth received a call from his mentor Dr. Bertram Prince, he had been surprised. He was even more surprised when he mentioned Augusta Prince was back in England. He had not seen or heard from her since she returned to America. So when Dr. Prince addressed he was in need of an escort for Augusta, he gladly volunteered.

He stood in front of the large manor that he had often spent time in during his studies, visiting Augusta. Sighing nervously, he looked himself over once last time before ringing the doorbell. A moment later, Timothy opened the door, "Good afternoon Mr. Collinsworth, come in please."

He offered a smile as he entered. Shaking the older man's hand, he returned the greeting, "Hello Timothy, it's been so long."

He saw a flash of lavender out of the corner of his eye, causing him to turn his attention fully to the fleeing woman. He rushed towards her, "Gussy!"

She stopped and slowly turned around, fiddling with her hair. When she saw him, she smiled, "Hello Will."

Will practically flew up the steps and lifted the small woman in a great bear hug. Augusta chuckled and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She took in his scent as her nose brushed against his neck. He still smelled of cinnamon spice.

Sherlock observed them from where he stood; they had obviously been in a relationship previously. There was mutual attraction by the way their pupils dilated at the sight of one another. Sherlock didn't miss the fact that Augusta was smelling him. Mr. Collinsworth was being quite free with his hands, which were holding her by the waist, his thump brushing against the material of her lavender robe.

When Will finally released her, Augusta ran her hands through her hair, "I look awful; had I known you were coming, I would have made myself presentable."

Will shook his head slightly, his smile glowing, "I don't recall you ever looking awful, Gussy. You look adorable."

The last part he whispered, causing her to blush.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sighing heavily, "Miss Prince, while you may be idle, I prefer to not be."

The frown returned to Augusta's face as she looked down at Sherlock from her place on the stairs, "Very well Mr. Holmes."

She smiled softly at Will once more before excusing herself, "I'll just be a moment."

Will watched as she ascended the stairs before she disappeared at the top. Stepping down the steps, he chuckled nervously as he approached Sherlock and John, offering his hand to shake. Sherlock of course merely looked at it and turned away, while John kindly shook the man's hand, "So sorry, I'm Will Collinsworth."

"What is it that you do at the university, Mr. Collinsworth?" John asked curiously.

"He's an art professor, history more lightly," Sherlock said as he peered at the slightly younger man.

Will looked slightly befuddled, "Um, yes that's right Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock turned to Will sharply, asking bluntly, "Tell me Mr. Collinsworth, how long has it been since you and Miss Prince dated?"

John's head snapped in Sherlock's direction, pleading in his eyes to stop his badgering before he started. Will turned towards Bertram, who shrugged, "You know I don't gossip William."

Will turned back to Sherlock, smiling less strongly, "It's been quite some time, Mr. Holmes. My, the rumors are true then; you can tell a person's life story just by looking at them. Must be terrible."

Sherlock returned his smile, "Oh no, Mr. Collinsworth, not terrible. I find it quite useful."

There seemed to be tension growing in the room but was quickly dissipated by Augusta descending the stairs in a tight fitting purple dress with leggings and brown ankle boots. Her peacoat folded in the crook of her arm as her long brown hair fell in tumbling curls down her back.

John let out a whistle that made her smile. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she approached Will, "Ready?"

Will offered his arm, which she gladly took, before motioned for Sherlock and John to follow, "Gentlemen, shall we go?"

Sherlock briskly walked towards the front door, leaving it open behind him as he made his way to the cab waiting outside. John brought up the rear behind Augusta and Will, who were talking to each other, oblivious to others as they entered the cab, ignoring Sherlock and John.

Sherlock did not know why, but he did not like William Collinsworth.

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REVIEW PLEASE!

REVIEW!

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